


Shadows & Ice

by okteiviablake



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, Clexa, F/F, F/M, Gen, Post-Season/Series 02, Slow Burn, blake siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:45:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 77
Words: 177,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okteiviablake/pseuds/okteiviablake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke has walked away from Camp Jaha, but she soon draws unwanted attention from powerful enemies. It's up to Bellamy and Octavia to gather a search party to bring her home. But they will encounter dangers of their own and profound challenges, some of which may change each of them forever.</p><p>Starts where Season 2 left off.</p><p>Revolving POV story with Clarke, Bellamy, and Octavia as third-person narrators.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1- Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic came before Season 3 was even written, let alone airing. Please disregard everything that happened in Season 3 before you read this fic. :)

After she walked away from Camp Jaha, from her people, her mother, if Clarke could have turned the whole world off, she would have. It wasn’t that she wanted to die- she had never been suicidal a day in her life- but she just didn’t want to have to bother with the day-to-day when she had so much to think about.

For the first week, she starved. She had taken nothing with her besides the clothes on her back and a handgun that was soon out of bullets, and she had suffered for it. At the dropship, she had been too preoccupied with the burdens of leadership to participate in hunting or tracking, and so she had learned neither skill. One of the perks of being in charge was being able to delegate such things to other people, but alone it was all up to her, and there was no one to blame for her failings but herself.

So, it took a week before she ate, finally managing to kill a rabbit, catching it unawares as it cleaned itself in front of its burrow, and grabbing it by the foot, bashing its head with a rock and spilling its blood across the soft loamy ground. Clarke was starving by then and she ate every last bit of it, lighting a fire to cook its meat, sucking the marrow from its bones, and drinking every drop of its blood. She had never experienced hunger like this, a deep hunger that came not from her stomach but from her entire body, as though her cells were crying out for protein.

It was only after she’d finished her modest feast that that she heard the sounds- an urgent squeaking from inside the earth. She used a stick and her hands to tear away the entrance to the burrow, searching deeper, unburying a treasure of fur and unblinking eyes: baby rabbits, four of them, perhaps only a few days old. Not even big enough to understand what they wanted even as they cried out for their mother’s milk.

Clarke wept quietly over them, over the suffering she’d caused, the fact that their bellies were empty because hers was now full. She felt ashamed for her grief.

She couldn’t bear to kill them, although part of her wanted desperately to eat them too. Instead, she left them there, even though she knew that they would die anyway. She couldn’t bring herself to give them a merciful death, because she couldn’t bear to be the one to do it. Their frantic cries haunted her all that night and for much of the next week.

It had been the same at Mount Weather. She hadn’t intended to kill anyone, had wanted to spare the innocent while still rescuing her people, had told Lexa’s army of that strategy and made sure they agreed. But Dante had caught her off guard when he’d exposed her plan as the wishful thinking of a child.

 

_She, Bellamy, and Monty had stood in the white room where she had first found herself in Mount Weather, looking at Dante, now a prisoner of his son’s scheming._

_They had come to him to ask for help, help that they quickly realised he was not going to provide._

_“Tell me,” he’d said, his tone scornful as he looked at Clarke. “If we released your people and theirs, what would have happened to mine?”_

 

The question had shocked her, not just because the answer was so obvious, but also because she’d failed to even consider it. She hadn’t realised before then how truly naïve she was, but now she knew: somebody always had to lose.

She had grown up with the belief that, if you worked hard enough, if you were considerate enough, planned well enough, then everyone could win. Bellamy would say it was because she was privileged, had no concept of the gray world that lurked between the black and white, and he would be right. Clarke had been raised to be righteous, but there was no place for righteousness in the real world.

Once, when she was a young girl, Clarke’s father had brought her a book home about yogis, ancient wise men who sometimes abandoned society, language, company, even food, just to seek enlightenment, a higher knowledge and state of being. He had brought her the book mainly because of the illustrations, knowing how she loved to draw nature, but Clarke had enjoyed the stories as well.

For a little while, she tried to imagine that she was a yogi and that this journey was about seeking enlightenment, or that her wandering in the woods was some kind of spiritual journey towards inner peace. But she couldn’t keep it up for long- she knew there was nothing sacred about running away, and that’s exactly what she was doing.

After a month, she had lost track of the days. Surviving was hard work, and was made even harder by the fact that she was restless, unable to sit still for more than a day or two. So her life was consumed by tedium- wake up, find food, prepare food, eat food, break camp, walk, find food again, prepare and eat food again, walk more, make camp again, try to fall asleep… every day the same. The only reprieve was the odd time that she had to hide from Grounders, and she watched them from the shadows, looking for familiar faces that she never saw.

At times she lay awake at night under the stars and thought of Lexa- where she might be, if she ever thought of her too, if she felt bad for what she’d done, betraying her, reneging on their deal, breaking the alliance.

Sometimes she argued with Lexa, at first in her mind and then out loud, soft and murmuring under her breath, telling her that she’d made a mistake, and that their plan should have worked, _would_ have. After all, Bellamy had done his part, so it was only fair that they did theirs, and things had been proceeding fine, on track… Lexa hadn’t had to do what she did, save her own people at the expense of Clarke’s, because they all could have come out on top.

Usually, Clarke ended up breaking down during these imaginary arguments, realising that she was just as naïve as she had always been. She could imagine Lexa’s contemptuous expression as well as she could imagine the tenderness of her lips.

So long had passed since she’d left Camp Jaha, and all at once, as she huddled in front of the fire, she realised that the arbitrary direction she’d chosen to take- north- represented the most shortsighted and idiotic thing she could have possibly done. The season was passing into winter, yet she had decided to walk north. It would have been getting cold anyway, but because of the direction she was moving, it was growing even colder. Maybe she was suicidal after all.

Even after this realisation, she couldn’t turn back. The idea of turning around was too frightening, because she knew that her aimless wandering would inevitably lead her back to the gates of Camp Jaha, and she couldn’t face it- not yet… maybe not ever.

So she adjusted her path slightly, going northwest instead of due north, hoping that would at least ease the wind chill a little at night. Winter was still on its way, and she remembered what she’d told the Chancellor- what seemed like a lifetime ago- but it was still true: the real danger of being down here at this time wasn’t starvation, but hypothermia. That was perhaps even truer with her alone.

She needed more supplies- food, heavier clothing, and warm furs to sleep in. But she had nothing to trade or sell to get any of those things, even if she had been able to find a village or a market where she wouldn’t be in danger. Just to imagine the logistics of it was exhausting.

So she just kept walking, kept putting one foot in front of the other, day in and day out, until she collapsed each night with exhaustion. It was only when she walked all day and fell asleep bone tired that she avoided her dreams.

When it got so cold that she couldn’t feel her hands or feet in the morning, she started digging a hole each night to sleep in, covering herself with dirt up to her chin, keeping her face as close to the fire as she could risk.

She was like those poor baby bunnies, wrapped up in a blanket of earth, her body yearning for something she didn’t even understand, eyes not yet open to it, but knowing in her heart that she would die if it never came.


	2. 2- Bellamy

Life was a pattern at Camp Jaha, much as it had been on the Ark. People had assigned tasks, teams, supervisors, and Bellamy had been absorbed into the guard after they’d returned from Mount Weather. Part of that had been Kane, putting in a good word for him- he’d proved himself with what he’d done in the mountain, proved he deserved to be a contributing member of society.

Bellamy had gritted his teeth at that little speech but held his tongue, stopped himself- somehow- from pointing out that Jaha had already pardoned him and it was offensive for Kane to act like he was granting him some special dispensation.

But the truth was, he needed a task. He had come back from Mount Weather with the others- finally, _finally_ able to rest- and he had thought that things could return to some kind of normal. There would be an adjustment period, of course, but he and Clarke would help their people get used to whatever life was going to be like from now on. It would be something they would figure out together.

They had spent the last couple of months, since the dropship landed, just fighting for their lives. They had lost friends along the way, but now they could finally breathe, relax enough to figure out how to _live_ rather than just _survive._

He hadn’t had any illusion that it would be easy, but it was a task to focus on and he wanted to help those kids through it. Leading them with Clarke, being her right-hand man, rescuing their people from Mount Weather… it had given him purpose when he’d needed it most, and he felt ready for the next challenge.

He was so angry at Clarke for leaving. He was angry at her for not saying a word about her plans during the hours it took for them to walk to Camp Jaha. He had been fine, then, to let the silence pass between them, knowing they each had a lot to think about. They had talked a few times- he’d told her of his time inside the mountain, she’d expressed her disbelief and grief about Lexa’s betrayal, and they’d shared worries about the future. Not just about the new camp, but also about what the Grounders would be like now that there was no more alliance.

She hadn’t even hinted at her plans to leave, and he was furious at her for that.

He didn’t know when she had decided- whether it was at the moment they pulled that lever, whether it was sometime during the long walk home, or whether she’d just stopped short in that last ten metres before the gate, looked around, and realised she couldn’t do it.

But no matter when she had decided to leave, he was angry that she hadn’t told him, angry that she hadn’t discussed it with him, and most of all he was angry that he had failed to stop her.

On the days he was honest with himself, Bellamy had to admit that he was also angry because he understood. He had tried to leave too, once, felt it was for the best- a lifetime ago, when he thought Octavia hated him and he was still running from what he believed he’d done to Jaha. He had planned to abandon the dropship, Octavia, Clarke, the camp, everyone, and just disappear.

He was angry because she had talked him out of it then, but he hadn’t been able to do the same for her.

The anger he felt for her was the same anger he carried against himself, but only one of them was there to blame. So he took the brunt of it, half the time trying to bury her memory in frustration and half the time raising her up on a pedestal of understanding. Neither one was entirely true.

 

_A few days after Clarke had gone, when it became clear she’d been serious, wasn’t going to just change her mind and come back, he’d sought out Monty- the only person she’d told about her plans to leave, just moments before she and Bellamy had said their goodbyes._

_“What did she tell you?” he’d demanded, not even bothering to explain what he was talking about._

_Monty’s dark eyes had gone soft, had dropped to the ground. “Just that she couldn’t stay,” he’d said quietly. “That it was too hard, after everything.”_

_“Too hard,” Bellamy repeated, his voice scathing. “What, did she think it was easy for the rest of us? For me?”_

_“No,” Monty answered, shaking his head, looking up at Bellamy with a small shrug. “She was only talking about herself.”_

_“Only_ thinking _about herself, you mean,” Bellamy had snapped._

_Monty had sighed, shaking his head again. “I’m sure she was thinking you’d hold down the fort for her. She didn’t want to go, Bellamy. But you know Clarke… what we did in there, it was too much for her. She needs time to come to terms with it.”_

_“And yet you and me are still here,” he’d countered. “We were in that room too, we had just as much responsibility as she did, but we didn’t run away. I was the one who actually interacted with those people, the ones that helped us, but I pulled the lever, too.”_

_“And I lived there for weeks,” Monty had said quietly. “Look, I know you’re mad. But you’re not mad at me.”_

_Bellamy had let out an angry breath, nodded, softened. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess I was just hoping she’d given you a better answer than the one she gave me.”_

_Monty shrugged a little, shifting uncomfortably. “She did what she thought was right. You know that, even if you don’t like it.”_

_“And you didn’t try to talk her out of it?”_

_“No,” he replied honestly. “I didn’t, because I got it. I was there and I knew firsthand how awful it was to do what we did… even if it was for the best, it doesn’t change how it felt to do it. Isn’t that why you didn’t talk her out of it either?”_

_Bellamy had stayed quiet for a long time. Finally he’d opened his mouth, closed it. He’d left Monty alone without saying anything, and they’d never spoken of it again._

 

Weeks had passed since then, and Bellamy had grown to rely on the guard as a way both to have focus in his life, and also to belong. Just like on the Ark, being part of the guard held certain advantages- respect, privilege, autonomy. He had access to more knowledge than most people, could participate in decision-making within the camp, had tasks that kept him busy. It helped.

He had been telling Monty the truth, that the two of them were just as affected as Clarke by what had happened; the mountain had changed him, too, not just the decision to irradiate but everything that had happened before that. He would never forget the name Lovejoy, the way the man’s windpipe slipped sideways and popped under his fingers, or the bright-eyed wonder of Lovejoy’s little boy, who’d hoped for nothing more than to hear that his father had stood outside under a bright, warm sun.

Bellamy would never forget the screams of those kids who were drilled, the ones he was too late to save. He would never forget the feeling of the blood and strength slowly draining out of him, the dull ache of his legs as they hung suspended from the ceiling. He would never forget the fear in the eyes of those people in the cages, the desperation as they crouched there, trapped and frightened and hopeless. He would never forget Fox’s arms around him as she hugged him close, thinking she was free.

All of those images and more came to him in his dreams. It had been hard for him to sleep since Mount Weather, since Clarke left. Nothing could totally eliminate the nightmares, or the hours he spent staring at the ceiling or rolling uncomfortably from side to side, as though it was a problem with his mattress rather than his memories.

It reminded him of how he’d felt in that year after his mother was floated and Octavia was arrested- lonely, depressed, angry, lost. Those feelings had eased when he’d seen his sister again, so he could only imagine that Clarke’s return was the answer to his suffering now, but he had no idea if that would ever happen. So he just tried to take it day by day, sometimes hour by hour, tried to busy his hands and his mind so there would be no room to think of anything else.

Some days it worked, some days it didn't, but the sun always rose and set either way, and time passed just the same. Bellamy might not have been happy, but he was living, and he chose to see that as a success. Most nights he wondered where Clarke was, if she was alive, because no matter how much he tried to distract himself from the images that plagued him, that one image- of Clarke, wrapping her arms around him, asking him to take care of everyone for her, saying goodbye- that image seemed impossible to forget.


	3. 3- Octavia

She found her brother sitting near the gate to Camp Jaha, just inside the electrified fence. His shift was over, but he was still wearing his uniform, the same uniform that all the security personnel wore. A guard again, just like on the Ark. But they both knew it wasn’t the same at all; just another world, deceptively similar to the first, yet unbelievably different. She liked to imagine that he found the outfit uncomfortable.  
  
He was sitting on a log, gun slung over his back, heavy boots toeing idly through the earth. The sunset glinted off his black curls as she approached, two steaming cups in her hands. Monty had invented a special brew, a sleep aid, that half the camp had come to rely on, and Bellamy was no exception. She knew it had been hard for him to sleep since Mount Weather, since Clarke left.  
  
She sat down on the log next to him and handed him one of the cups. He gave her a gentle smile and inhaled the vapours, but he didn’t take a sip. Octavia didn’t push him, knowing he’d drink it when he was ready, sleep when he was ready.  
  
They watched the sun slipping lower through the trees, the light being swallowed by the horizon, and a comfortable silence passed between them. They had long since discussed everything that needed saying, rehashed Mount Weather, Bellamy’s time as an inside man, the battle, Octavia’s training with Indra, Lexa’s betrayal, the decision to kill everyone in the mountain, Clarke choosing not to come home.  
  
Bellamy struggled with some of the things he’d done- she knew that. He also, sometimes, struggled with the fact that he struggled.  
  
  
_Once she’d found him like this and he’d said to her, though he was really talking to himself, “I did it for you. They had you, they would have killed you- killed all of you. Clarke knew that. We had no choice but to irradiate.”_  
  
_She had reached over, squeezed his knee. “You can feel guilty for doing something even if it was right,” she’d said, gentle. “You can be glad you saved me and sad that those people had to die.”_  
  
_Bellamy had smiled sideways at her, rolled his eyes playfully. “Is that one of those Grounder lessons?” he’d asked. “More warrior philosophy?”_  
  
_Octavia had smiled back. “Maybe.”_  
  
_He’d sighed. “She didn’t have to go,” he’d protested quietly, glaring angrily into the distance as though the world owed him something._  
  
_“She did,” Octavia had answered simply, gently. “Look... she left. So she must have felt that she had to.” They’d had their differences, she and Clarke, but Octavia knew that she wouldn’t have made that decision lightly._

 _Bellamy had sighed again, leaned his head back into the sky and exhaled an angry breath. “She didn’t have to go,” he’d repeated, stubborn. Angry._  
  
_Octavia had laced her fingers through his, squeezed. “Life is long, Bell. She’ll come back when she’s ready.” She hadn’t really believed that, thought Clarke was most likely dead by then, but she had said it for Bellamy’s sake, for his peace of mind. It mattered to her- that he had hope, that he could imagine a world where his burdens might be shared again. She’d seen it as a kind lie._  
  
  
Tonight her brother was less troubled, though he always held himself as though he had everything weighing on his shoulders. It was not unlike the way he’d been when they were young and back on the Ark, when his life had revolved around protecting her. That had been another world, but he was still the same person.  
  
Now that he was reasonably confident that she was safe, tough, self-reliant, Bellamy’s worries had shifted to the other kids, to this camp as a whole. Sometimes Octavia marvelled at how her brother had changed from the angry young man who had insisted they abandon the dropship as soon as possible, to someone who felt that it was his responsibility to watch over the remainder of the hundred, and keep them as safe as he had once kept her.  
  
She had a feeling he had promised Clarke he’d do as much, and Bellamy had never been one to make a promise lightly. Still, she worried about him, wished he would put himself first for once, realised he probably didn’t know how.  
  
“If you don’t drink that soon, you won’t sleep tonight,” she chided gently. It had been a long time since they’d left Mount Weather, yet more often than not her brother spent his mornings under a cloud, clearly plagued by nightmares and sleeplessness. Monty’s tonic took the edge off, but the underlying stress, and the trauma from what he’d gone through… that would only pass with time. She knew that a warrior shouldn’t worry about what she couldn’t control, but worrying about Bellamy was not an emotion she knew how to turn off.  
  
He smiled at her, took a long sip of his drink, and then tapped his cup against hers. “Happy?”  
  
“Yes,” she answered, nodding, returning his smile with a wry one of her own. She sipped her own drink of simple tea; she didn’t need help relaxing at night. Lincoln’s arms wrapped around her made it easy to sleep. “Very happy.”  
  
“How’s Lincoln?” he asked, and Octavia wondered- not for the first time- if he could read her mind. She smiled to herself. She was glad that he liked Lincoln now, that he respected him, that there was no hostility left between the two men.  
  
“He’s fine,” she replied. “He’s still settling in, but he’s happier now that he’s helping out with the training.”  
  
Bellamy nodded and looked at her, reaching out to curl one of her braids around his finger, giving it an affectionate tug. “He’s good for you.”  
  
She knew that statement was a miracle, but she pretended it wasn’t. “He is,” she agreed.  
  
Bellamy drained the rest of his cup and got to his feet, rolling his shoulders back and forth for a moment as though he could shrug off the weight of the world. She watched him, wishing she could take that burden from him.  
  
“Want some company?” she asked him. It was something she had offered more than once over the last few weeks, just so he would know he didn’t have to be alone, but he had always declined.  
  
Before the Sky Box, Octavia had never slept alone a day in her life. Growing up in a tiny room, a room with only two beds for three people, she had either curled into her mother or curled into Bellamy, or she had slept in the bunk below her brother’s when their mother stayed out all night. Having to sleep isolated and alone in her cell in the Sky Box had been painful, and she’d known Bellamy would have been equally lonely in that year she was gone, after their mother was floated. After all, he had never slept alone before either.  
  
So she kept her offer on the table, reminding him periodically that he didn’t have to be isolated if he didn’t want to. Still, he always had the same answer. Reaching down to give her shoulder a light squeeze, he shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Goodnight, O.”  
  
“Night, Bell,” she answered, listening as his footsteps trailed away. There were things that never changed, and her brother’s habits were one of them- his moods, his face, his footsteps, his mannerisms, his breath… she had grown up with those familiar things, trapped in that tiny room with very little to amuse her but him, and she had memorised everything about him without even trying. She was as attuned to him now as she had always been, and she was worried about him.  
  
After he was gone she sat there until the sky was completely dark and then slowly lightened again as the moon grew bright and more stars came out to twinkle across the vast black expanse. Octavia wondered if she would ever get used to the beauty of the world. She hoped not.  
  
She couldn’t help but think of Clarke, of where she might be, or where her body might lay. She had been angry the last time they’d had a proper conversation, but she liked to imagine that Clarke had forgiven her for her harsh words. More importantly, she liked to imagine that she had forgiven Clarke for what she’d done. Her absence made that easier, made it possible to believe in absolution.  
  
Octavia had learned another lesson from the Grounders: the dead were gone. There was no use holding grudges against dust.


	4. 4- Bellamy

Nine weeks to the day after Clarke left, Lexa appeared outside the gates of Camp Jaha. Technically it wasn’t her at the gate, but her new right-hand man, who introduced himself as Fayol. Bellamy figured that Lexa had finally gotten around to replacing Gustus, after the betrayal that had ended with Raven being tied to a stake and nearly knifed to death.  
  
When Fayol and another man came up to the gates on horseback and asked to speak to Clarke, no one knew what to do at first. Lexa’s tent was set up a safe distance away from the camp, close to where it had been placed in the days before Finn died. This parallel made many people nervous, but Bellamy didn’t see why she would reveal herself like this if she were planning an attack.  
  
Bellamy had to fight to be the one allowed to go to see Lexa. Kane wanted to, of course, and Abby also tried to assert that she was the best choice, but in the end Bellamy argued that he was the most logical person to speak with the Commander. After all, the Grounders were asking for Clarke, who they still saw as leader of the Sky People, and Bellamy was seen as her second-in-command.  
  
Bellamy followed Fayol and the other man, who was big and silent, clearly there only to intimidate if needed. He had never been in Lexa’s tent, and he looked around carefully as he was led inside, his eyes finally settling on the young woman sitting on the driftwood throne.  
  
“I asked for Clarke,” she said, not coldly but with no warmth either. “Not you.”  
  
“Clarke isn’t here,” he answered her. “She left.”  
  
Lexa looked down at the knife in her hands, twirling it from side to side. Bellamy couldn’t help but admire the engraving along the blade as he waited. Finally she said, “I knew that.”  
  
“What?” Bellamy asked, confused. “Then why come here looking for her?”  
  
“I… hoped she was here,” Lexa admitted.  
  
“But you knew she wasn’t.” He didn’t claim to know Lexa well, but still, he could not figure out what she might be getting at.  
  
“Yes,” Lexa replied. “I hoped I was wrong.”  
  
“Will you just spit out whatever it is you’re trying to tell me?” he demanded. Lexa’s eyes darkened as she looked at him, and Bellamy’s jaw clenched. He knew she was dangerous, that his temper could lead to problems here. “I’m sorry, Commander,” he managed.  
  
“Clarke is in trouble,” Lexa said, letting his rudeness pass unchecked.  
  
Bellamy sighed. “Yeah, I know, it was stupid for her to go off on her own. I tried to stop her.”  
  
“No, you don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. “She’s in trouble _now._ She’s been taken.”  
  
His back straightened. “What? Taken by who?” There was clear hesitation in Lexa’s body language, like she knew more but didn’t want to say. “Come on,” he urged her. “You came here for a reason.”  
  
“I came to see if she was here, if our intelligence was wrong.”  
  
“You knew it was wrong,” Bellamy answered, trying to make the words sound less confrontational than they were.  
  
Lexa looked at him for a long moment. He forced himself to meet her gaze, not to look away. Finally she said, “Yes. We had good information that Clarke was taken by the Ice Nation.”  
  
“The Ice Nation?” Bellamy repeated. He had only heard those people described once, and he hardly remembered the context. Finally he retrieved it from deep in his memory and asked, “Aren’t they part of your twelve clan alliance?”  
  
Pressing her lips together, Lexa gave the slightest half-shake of her head. “It appears not,” she said, clearly quite unhappy about it. “Not anymore.”  
  
“Okay but if they wanted to betray you, why would they take Clarke?” he pressed.  
  
“I believe their spies relayed one piece of information to them but not another.”  
  
“Listen,” Bellamy said, losing his temper a little. “I can’t play twenty questions with you. Just tell me what you’re talking about so I can figure out how to help Clarke. Okay?”  
  
The energy in the room seemed to change as it became clear that Lexa’s men were not happy with the way Bellamy was talking to her, but she put up a hand to stop them from doing anything about it.  
  
Finally releasing whatever hesitation she seemed to have, Lexa explained. “Before the Ice Nation joined the alliance, they were an enemy of the Woods Clan. When I became Commander, they tried to undermine my power by taking someone that I loved- they tortured her for information, then killed her.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said, mostly because she paused, but it was clear that this person was still a sore subject for her.  
  
Lexa inclined her head a little, acknowledging his sympathy, and then continued, “I fear the Ice Nation may think they have a second chance to undermine me. By using Clarke.”  
  
“Why is that?” he asked, frowning. “Clarke isn’t exactly someone you love.” There was a drop of venom in his voice; he was still angry with her for her betrayal.  
  
“As I said, I think the Ice Nation has spies within the Woods Clan. I think these spies informed their queen that Clarke and I had a… connection. And I think their plan to use her against me was set in motion before they ever received word that we had parted company. The Ice Nation is far away, even by horse.”  
  
“So you’re saying they grabbed her because of you,” Bellamy asked, trying not to sound as angry as he felt. “To use her against you.”  
  
“That is what I’m saying,” she confirmed with a slight nod.  
  
Bellamy said nothing for a long moment. He took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “So what are we going to do about it?”  
  
Lexa raised an eyebrow at him. “We?”  
  
“You came here, you brought your tent and your men… you must plan to do something about it?”  
  
“No,” Lexa replied. “I don’t. I wanted to see if it was true. Now I believe it is. I’m sorry, but Clarke is lost.”

Bellamy let out a snort of indignation. “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?”  
  
This time Lexa’s men started to unsheathe their swords, but again Lexa put up a hand to stop them. She was glaring at Bellamy, but her voice was calm as she said, “You must do as you wish. I will not travel to the Ice Nation. I will not set foot in those lands.”  
  
“And how the hell am I supposed to go after her alone?” he growled. “That’s a suicide mission and you know it.”  
  
“Yes, it is,” she answered evenly. “More than you know. Which is why I won’t be accompanying you.”  
  
Bellamy felt like picking something up and throwing it, but somehow he resisted the urge. “I wouldn’t even be able to find the place,” he finally said, trying to get through to her with logic instead of emotion.  
  
Lexa considered this for a moment. “There is a woman, one of those we rescued from the cages in the mountain. Her name is Echo… she’s from the Ice Nation. I believe she is keen to return to her homeland.”  
  
“You think she’ll take me?” he asked hesitantly.  
  
“I cannot speak for her,” she replied with a slight shrug. “But you could ask. She has been staying with us. My men can take you to her.”  
  
He nodded. “Thank you.”  
  
Lexa nodded her head. “Go well, Bellamy of the Sky People,” she said, clearly dismissing him. She spoke to her men briefly in Trigedasleng and then he was escorted from the tent. He was led past several other smaller, temporary tents before they finally stopped at one.  
  
Fayol called out in Trigedasleng, saying a string of words, of which Bellamy could only understand his own name and the word for his people- _Skaikru._ A woman’s voice answered before Fayol nodded to Bellamy, granting him access to the tent.  
  
“Does she speak English?” he asked. Fayol nodded again, much to Bellamy’s relief- all the better if they could talk privately. “Thanks, you can go,” he said.  
  
Fayol and Lexa’s other man exchanged a glance, then nodded and left him. Bellamy stepped inside the tent. It was much less decorated than Lexa’s, much smaller with only a pile of furs on one side as a bed and a small bag to carry her belongings piled neatly with her weapons near the door.  
  
The young woman was standing in the centre of the tent, clearly waiting for him. Bellamy was taken aback as he realised she looked somehow familiar, and he frowned for a moment, trying to figure out how he could possibly know her. Then it all came rushing back-  
  
  
_Waking up in the cage next to hers in Mount Weather, her spitting on him when she found out he was a Sky Person, warning him not to make noise because it would only make the men harvest him next… her helping him kill Lovejoy, his promise to go back for her... fulfilling that promise but only temporarily, then the way his heart sank when he arrived in the empty harvest chamber and realised that he would never know if she had made it out or if she’d been killed before she ever got her chance._  
  
  
“You’re Echo?” he asked her, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.  
  
“You’re Bellamy?” she said at almost the same moment, seeming just as shocked.  
  
They both just stood there for a moment, and then Echo flung her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you for helping me get out of the mountain.”  
  
Bellamy was momentarily surprised at the show of affection, but then he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. “Thanks for helping me while I was in there,” he said softly. “And thanks for not dying after I left."  
  
Pulling back from the embrace, they looked at each other and smiled.


	5. 5- Octavia

“You’ve learned a lot about patience,” Lincoln said fondly as he handed her a bowl of stew, sitting down beside her. “The old you would have been pacing back and forth, knowing your brother was meeting with Lexa right now.”  
  
“That wouldn’t change anything,” she said, shrugging a little. Internally she was tumultuous, but outwardly she appeared calm. She didn’t touch her stew. “Why did she come here, Lincoln?”  
  
“I don’t know,” he said, digging into his own food. “I’m sure Bellamy will be back soon, and then he’ll tell us.”  
  
Octavia let out a frustrated breath, losing a grip on her resolve. “He shouldn’t even be talking to her after what she did.”  
  
Lincoln reached out and took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers and giving it a squeeze. This was an old fight, and although they both agreed that what Lexa had done had been wrong, Lincoln was more conflicted. After all, she was technically still his Commander, and he had loyalty to her position that had been ingrained in him since birth, whereas Octavia had not grown up _Trikru._ They had long since reached a mutual and unspoken agreement that the subject of Lexa was a sore one, and that it was better not to discuss it at all.  
  
She heard that Bellamy was on his way back long before he reached the gates, and she left Lincoln to go and meet her brother there. He smiled at her but immediately she knew he was stressed, that something had happened.  
  
Kane and Abby had come to meet him too. “Well?” Kane demanded as the gates shut behind him.  
  
Bellamy’s eyes flickered from Octavia to Abby, and she saw that her brother was troubled, hated to see him squirm under Kane’s gaze, though she knew that to anyone else he appeared nothing but calm.  
  
“Why don’t we speak somewhere private?” Abby suggested.  
  
There hadn’t been many injuries in camp lately, so the medical bay was quiet and empty. Abby dismissed the few staff members who were still hanging around, and then they were alone.  
  
“What did she say?” Kane asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he narrowed his eyes at Bellamy. Octavia saw her brother’s gaze flicker, again, towards Abby.  
  
“It’s Clarke, isn’t it?” Octavia asked simply. The two adults’ eyes landed on her as though they’d forgotten she was there. Abby swallowed, looked to Bellamy for an explanation.  
  
“Yeah,” he said heavily. Octavia knew he would find it easier to talk to her than the other two. There wasn’t exactly any love lost between Bellamy and Abby, especially, as Abby harboured resentment that her daughter had taken the time to say goodbye to Bellamy but mentioned nothing of her plans to her mother.  
  
“What happened?” Octavia asked her brother, gently.  
  
“The Ice Nation took her.”  
  
“Who?” Abby demanded, her voice high with worry.  
  
“Why would the queen do that?” Octavia asked, frowning.  
  
“I don’t know,” he answered. “Apparently it isn’t the first time she’s taken someone as a way to get at Lexa.”  
  
“Get at Lexa? How does taking my daughter get at Lexa?” Abby asked.  
  
“So she wants to pull out of the alliance?” Octavia continued their conversation as if no one else was there.  
  
“I think she already has,” Bellamy said, gritting his teeth a little. “Lexa seemed pretty angry about the whole thing.”  
  
“Dammit,” Octavia said, shaking her head. “It was hard enough for her to united the twelve clans in the first place. The alliance has always been delicate… if the Ice Nation pulls out, there might be other weak points now, too. Some of the other clans might throw their lots in with the queen and move against _Trigeda.”_  
  
“She said she won’t help us get Clarke back,” Bellamy said, clearly angry about it.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Octavia said, touching his arm gently. “We’ll do it without her.”  
  
“Excuse me!” Abby interrupted suddenly, her voice sharp. The Blakes both turned their heads to look at her as she pressed her lips together. _“You_ won’t be doing anything. _We_ will organise a team to bring Clarke back. Just… tell me who these people are that you’re talking about. Tell me where my daughter is.”  
  
Bellamy let out a frustrated breath. “You don’t know anything,” he snapped. “You don’t know anything at all about this place.”  
  
“You’re right,” Kane spoke up, clearly trying to diffuse the situation, putting a hand gently on Abby’s shoulder. He looked to Bellamy. “So fill us in.”  
  
Octavia spoke instead. “After the _conclave,_ when Lexa’s _keryon_ was chosen as _Heda,_ she had to win _mani gonplei_ to gain the _badannes_ of the other _krus._ It took two years before the _kongeda_ was complete,and she united the _tua krus_ to make them _teina kru._ That means Lexa isn’t just _Heda_ to _Trigeda,_ she’s _Heda_ to _hogeda_ too.But if the _Azgeda_ is _baga_ now, that changes everything.”  
  
Bellamy couldn’t help but smile a little at the floor, and when she saw that, Octavia had to hide a smile of her own to keep from laughing. She was alternating between English and Trigedasleng to be purposely unintelligible, and her brother knew it.  
  
The two of them had discussed it on more than one occasion- that the adults should leave the real problems to the people who had been here longest, knew the land and its people… in short, to them. Her decision to explain things the way she just had was to make that point.  
  
“Now you listen, young lady-” Kane started, pointing a finger at her.  
  
“No,” Bellamy snapped, cutting him off. “What are you going to do, go to the Ice Nation and demand to talk to their queen? They’ll laugh you right off their land.”  
  
“And that’s if they don’t kill you first,” Octavia agreed, glaring at Kane.  
  
“Then we’ll bring you,” Abby said to her. “You and your boyfriend. You can go with the team, be their guides.”  
  
“We won’t follow you,” Octavia said, shaking her head. “No offence, but you have no authority over us.”  
  
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong,” Kane said. “You either go along with us or we’ll lock you up for insubordination.” He started to advance on Octavia, but Bellamy’s hand shot up, planting itself firmly on Kane’s chest, stopping him in his tracks.  
  
Kane and Bellamy glared at each other for a long moment before Bellamy said, soft but angry, “That’s not happening. Don’t threaten my sister again.”  
  
Octavia could plainly see the moment where Kane realised the hole he’d just dug for himself. Suggesting he might lock her up was the absolute worst thing he could have said in front of her brother. Kane shrugged off Bellamy’s hand and looked to Octavia, but before he could open his mouth again, Bellamy said to Abby, “You know we’re right. We have the best chance of getting Clarke back… I’ve already found someone willing to be our guide, but we need to leave- now.”  
  
“And you’re not invited,” Octavia added. “We’ll bring her back, but you can’t come with us. You’ll just slow us down or get us killed.” Bellamy crossed his arms over his chest and nodded his agreement.  
  
Finally, grudgingly, Kane relented. It looked like Abby wanted to argue some more, but before she could he said, his voice gentle but urgent, “It’s like before, when you helped them. You were right to do that… they know this place, its customs. They have the best chance of success. It makes sense, Abby.”  
  
Clarke’s mother let out her breath, closing her eyes briefly. “Fine,” she said quietly, looking hard at both Octavia and Bellamy. “Just… go get my daughter.”  
  
Octavia turned on her heel and she heard her brother’s footsteps follow a moment later. They would bring Clarke home, but it would be on _their_ terms.


	6. 6- Bellamy

After they got Abby and Kane off their backs, Bellamy and Octavia went to Lincoln to fill him in and invite him along.

“This isn’t a good plan,” Lincoln protested, glancing at Octavia apprehensively. She gave him a reassuring smile, reaching out to squeeze his hand.  
  
Bellamy watched them for a moment before speaking. “Probably not,” he allowed. “But Clarke got herself into trouble and we have to get her out of it.”  
  
“There is so much you still don’t understand,” Lincoln said, letting out a sigh and shaking his head slowly.  
  
“That’s why we want you to come,” Bellamy answered with a nod. “You and Echo. She’s from the Ice Nation… she knows the land, the people.”  
  
“Have you ever been there, Lincoln?” Octavia asked.  
  
He nodded. “Yes, a long time ago,” he said. “It’s far from here.” He frowned at Bellamy. "This woman, Echo- how do you know you can trust her?”  
  
“She was in the mountain with me,” he explained. “In the cages… hers was next to mine. She helped me overpower the guard, helped me escape. I never would have made it out of the harvest chamber without her.”  
  
Lincoln looked at Octavia, who gave him a reassuring nod, but the man was clearly still troubled. “The Ice Nation is a formidable enemy,” he warned. “One that shouldn’t be made lightly.”  
  
“No,” Bellamy said firmly, shaking his head. “They forced that outcome when they took Clarke. We’re already enemies, the only question is whether we act on it or not.”  
  
“And have you considered not acting?” Lincoln asked.  
  
Bellamy glanced at Octavia, and then he shook his head. “No, not really.”  
  
“We can’t just let her die,” Octavia agreed with a small shrug. Bellamy appreciated her saying that. He respected his sister’s feelings about Clarke’s part in what had happened in tonDC, had even struggled with that revelation himself, and he knew that Octavia and Lincoln collectively held a grudge about it, but he also knew that his sister didn’t want Clarke to die.  
  
“I’m worried you don’t understand how dangerous this is,” Lincoln said.  
  
“Why do you say that?”  
  
“Because you’re bringing Octavia,” he said bluntly. “If you knew how risky your plan is, how formidable the queen is, you wouldn’t let her go.”  
  
Bellamy glanced sideways at Octavia, who was frowning deeply, and he couldn’t help but smile a little. “I don’t think she’d let me leave her behind.”  
  
Octavia brightened, grinned at him. “You’re damn right I won’t.”  
  
Growing serious again, Bellamy looked at the older man and said, “We’ll be a lot safer if you come with us.”  
  
Lincoln looked to Octavia. “There’s no talking you out of this?” At the defiant shake of her head he sighed and said, “Fine. Then I’ll come.”  
  
“Thank you, Lincoln,” Octavia said, hugging him close.  
  
“We’ll need weapons, ammunition, rations… what else?” Bellamy asked, his mind going over the details.  
  
“Horses,” Lincoln replied. “Clothes that will let you blend in.”  
  
Bellamy nodded. “And where will we get those?”  
  
“Echo is with Lexa, isn’t she?” Lincoln asked. “She can get you clothes, and the Commander may be willing to give us horses and weapons too.”  
  
“I don’t just want swords,” Bellamy said, smiling sideways at his sister. “Unlike her, I’m not a samurai.”  
  
Octavia grinned at him, but Lincoln frowned. “Guns are problematic. They’ll mark as outsiders immediately.”  
  
“Then we’ll hide them,” Bellamy said.  
  
“Alright,” Lincoln answered slowly, but he still seemed uncertain. “But they’re a last resort.”  
  
“Agreed,” Bellamy said with a nod. He touched his sister’s arm. “O, go and get together four packs, medkits, canteens, and as much rations as we can carry. I’ll get some guns, get Echo, make sure we have clothes, and we’ll meet back here in thirty minutes.”  
  
He felt glad to have a plan, but he was nervous. While he walked back to Lexa’s camp, he frowned thoughtfully, thinking of Lincoln’s questions. He hadn’t considered _not_ going after Clarke, not even for a moment. She was in trouble and so he wanted to go.  
  
He had even decided to bring Octavia, despite the danger that he knew would be involved, even before Lincoln pointed it out. That could be explained by the fact that she wasn’t the same scared little girl he’d always looked after, that he knew now she could hold her own, but the other question still stood- why hadn’t he considered leaving Clarke to deal with the Ice Nation on her own? After all, she’d abandoned him, and he was still angry about it.  
  
Bellamy shook his head a little. He knew there was no choice, not really. It wasn’t just that Clarke would have done the same if he’d been the one who was taken, or even that Lincoln’s fear had made him afraid of what she might be going through right now… it was the simple fact that one of their own was in trouble. Clarke may have walked away, but she was still considered their leader, not only by the other members of the hundred, but also by the Grounders. She was important to the stability of the group and if she ended up in the wrong hands she could do damage.  
  
He knew Octavia would laugh at him if she’d heard his thoughts at that moment. She would call him on his bullshit, his logic, and call it out for what it was: a cover. Yes, Clarke was all those things, but that wasn’t why he was going after her- not really. More important than all of that, she was his friend… his best friend. He’d never had a friend before Earth; he’d been too busy worrying about Octavia, always going home right after school and work to make sure she wasn’t alone. Clarke had become an unexpected friend to him, but she was a friend to everyone else in camp too… she had been deeply missed since she’d walked away. Bellamy had been among those who’d missed her- underneath his anger, his hurt at her abandonment, there was a keen sense of loss.  
  
There was also another, selfish reason, that he wanted to save her. If she came back then the burden of leadership would once again be shared. Despite the larger command structure present in Camp Jaha, the remaining members of the hundred still looked to him, and if Clarke was here he knew that he could offset some of that pressure onto her. They had always been better as a team than alone.  
  
When Bellamy reached Echo’s tent he stepped inside and noticed that she’d changed her clothes, now dressed warmly, ready for a journey north.  
  
“I need clothes so I can look like a Grounder,” he told her.  
  
“You’re right,” she answered with a nod, giving him a small smile. “Even those who’ve never heard of the Sky People will know you don’t belong.”  
  
He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Is there really anyone who hasn’t heard of us?”  
  
“Perhaps,” she said with a small shrug. “Across the sea, maybe.”  
  
Bellamy laughed. “Octavia and Lincoln are coming with us. They’re gathering supplies right now.”  
  
“Very well,” she said with a nod. “What can I contribute?”  
  
“Horses,” he said. “And weapons. Do you think Lexa will be willing to give those to us?”  
  
“I believe so,” she said with a nod. “Wait here.” She left the tent and returned soon after with a pile of furs and leathers. “These should fit you,” she said, handing them to him. “I’ll see about the other supplies.”  
  
She left again, and Bellamy started taking off his clothes. It wasn’t the first time he’d dressed up liked a Grounder, and it brought back the apprehension that he’d felt when Lincoln had been escorting him to the Mountain. He still had nightmares about the decontamination, the cages, the bloodletting, and he wondered if Echo had the same dreams.  
  
By the time she returned, he was dressed head to toe as a Grounder- leather pants and shirt, a fur vest, and furry boots. Echo had chosen the clothes well, and they fit perfectly.  
  
She looked him over and gave an approving nod and said, “There’s not a lot we can do about your hair or your skin.”  
  
“Thanks,” he said dryly. “That gives me a lot of confidence.”  
  
Echo laughed softly. “I meant no offense, it’s just that your hair is very short and you have no markings.”  
  
“You mean tattoos?” he asked. “Yeah, they weren’t really a thing where I came from.”  
  
“Tattoos, yes,” Echo agreed. “But you have no kill marks either. It’s clear you’re not a warrior.”  
  
“I have killed,” he said quietly, swallowing a little. “But in my culture, we don’t celebrate murder.”  
  
Echo frowned at him. “It is not a celebration,” she said, seeming a bit offended. “If you take a life, it must be done with care… for good reason. One way to acknowledge that importance is to make a mark… each scar is a memory… you wound your own body so that you never forget the cost that has allowed you to continue living.”  
  
Bellamy swallowed a little, glancing away. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I didn’t understand all that.”  
  
“Sky People have a habit of making assumptions,” she replied irritably.  
  
“Now who’s generalising?” he asked gently.  
  
He thought that might offend her further, but she actually laughed softly at him. “Perhaps you’re right.”  
  
“So what about the tattoos?” he asked her. “Yours are blue… I’ve mostly seen black ones before.”  
  
“The Woods Clan favours black pigment,” she said with a small shrug. “The Ice Nation favours blue.”  
  
“I get the impression that the Ice Nation is pretty far from here,” he said. “So how did you end up anywhere near Mount Weather?”  
  
Echo went to her pack and started loading it up with her supplies, not saying anything for a while. Finally she said, softly, “That is a story for another day.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said, sensing her discomfort. “I didn’t mean to pry.”  
  
She looked at him for a long moment. “We all have our stories,” she said gently. “Some are good, some are bad… but they all make us who we are. I’m sure there are things you’d rather not discuss.”  
  
“You’d be right about that,” he said quietly.  
  
“My mother used to say that if you have to drink a bitter tea, there is no use adding to the brew,” Echo told him.  
  
He smiled a little. “Your mother sounds like a smart woman,” he remarked. “When was the last time you saw her?”  
  
“The day she died,” Echo answered shortly.  
  
“Me too,” he said softly. “But I didn’t know that was the day until she was gone.”  
  
Echo paused, fixing him with a serious look. “You are adding bitterness to our tea,” she pointed out.  
  
He couldn’t help but smile. “You’re right,” he said. “I sort of have a bad habit of doing that.”  
  
“Then think of something good,” she said. “Think of Clarke, of your reasons for going on this journey. Or think of someone else that you love.”  
  
He opened his mouth to protest, to say he didn’t love Clarke… he wasn’t really sure if he was capable of loving anyone but his mother or Octavia, since they had been the only people that mattered for so long. But he realised it was pointless to argue, so he just nodded. “I’ll try,” he said. “I’ll try to think of something good.”  
  
She tied off her pack and stood up, nodding to him. “From now on you must be not be Bellamy of the Sky People. You must learn from your sister and become _Belomi kom Trikru._ That is the only way you will survive. Now let’s go.”


	7. 7- Octavia

Working on the language took up most of their days. Once her brother got comfortable enough on his horse not to spook it every thirty seconds, he asked Octavia to help him work on words and phrases in Trigedasleng. She wasn’t fully fluent herself, but she was close, and she knew Bellamy was too proud to ask Echo or even Lincoln directly, so she played along. Occasionally one of the Grounders would supply a word or a phrase if Octavia wasn’t sure, but since they were starting at square one she found she could handle most of the basics.  
  
“See, it’s sort of like English,” she’d said to him near the end of a particularly long day of riding. “A lot of the words are similar, right?”  
  
“It doesn’t sound much like English to me,” he complained. She knew it always frustrated him when he didn’t pick things up quickly, or have all the answers.  
  
Octavia frowned for a moment, trying to think of a way to explain. “Remember when you taught me algebra?” she asked. “I hated it because it seemed so different than normal math, but then you showed me to look past the letters, that they were really just numbers in disguise. It’s the same with language.”  
  
He gave her a sideways look, smiling a little. “You remember that?”  
  
“I remember everything,” she retorted with a matching smile of her own.  
  
“You were too young to be learning algebra,” he said ruefully. “I should have waited until you were older.”  
  
“It’s not your fault I used to steal your homework. It gave me something to do.”  
  
“You would have liked school,” he said, letting out a sigh. “More than I ever did.”  
  
“Yeah, I noticed,” she answered dryly. “You’re not a very good student, Bell.”  
  
_“Shof op,”_ he said grumpily.  
  
Octavia laughed. “Hey, that was good!”  
  
“Learning ‘shut up’ and swear words is way more interesting than learning to count or how to ask for water,” he remarked.  
  
“Well fine, then you can just yell at everyone we meet… you’ll fit right in,” she said, sarcastically rolling her eyes.  
  
“Maybe I’m an angry warrior,” he teased.  
  
“Don’t say you are a warrior,” Echo interjected. “You have no markings, so you cannot be a warrior.”  
  
“So what am I, then?” Bellamy asked hesitantly.  
  
“Well, you cannot be a healer,” Echo replied. “Perhaps you should be a farmer.”  
  
“A farmer?” he retorted, offended. “I don’t know anything about farming.”  
  
“Then what _do_ you know something about?” Echo asked him with a small shrug.  
  
Bellamy thought for a moment. “I was trained as a guard on the Ark,” he said. “Well, until I was ejected from the program.” He exchanged a glance with Octavia.  
  
“And then what did you do?” she enquired.  
  
“I… was… a janitor.” He gritted his teeth and Octavia winced a little, feeling sorry for him, seeing the shame on his face and hating that he was being reduced to that title, when she knew that he was so much more.  
  
“Janitor?” Echo repeated, clearly not recognising the word.  
  
“No,” Octavia said, cutting Bellamy off before he could speak. “He was a soldier and he was my brother… he worked hard every day to keep me safe. You have no idea what that was like. And then when we came down here he kept us alive… risked his life for all of us. He’s a hero.”  
  
“O,” Bellamy said gently. “It’s okay.”  
  
“No it’s not,” she fumed, her hands tightening on her reigns. “She doesn’t get it.” Octavia herself could tell Bellamy off, get angry at him, pick a fight, but no one else was allowed. She saw Echo’s words as an attack and she wanted to protect her brother from it.  
  
“I didn’t mean to offend,” Echo said, looking surprised as she glanced uncomfortably at Lincoln. He shook his head at her, giving her a reassuring smile, then reached over and gave Octavia’s arm a squeeze.  
  
She shrugged him off. “You don’t get it,” she said again, keeping her expression severe to stop herself from becoming emotional.  
  
There was a long silence and then Echo said, quietly, “Then perhaps your story should be about the mountain.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Bellamy asked cautiously. “What story?”  
  
“That you were taken for the harvest, like me,” Echo said. “And that you were instrumental in freeing the prisoners of the Mountain Men.” She looked at him, giving him a gentle smile. “That you’re a hero.”  
  
Octavia brightened and looked at her brother, raising her eyebrows at him. “It is the truth, Bell.”  
  
He shifted uncomfortably on his horse for a moment, then gave Octavia a gentle smile and nodded. “Fine.” Octavia gave him a smug look when he said that; she knew he could never deny her anything.  
  
“So should we get back to Trigedasleng?” she asked him. In response, Bellamy let out a groan that made her laugh. “Okay, fine, we’ll give it a rest for now,” she promised, and continued to chuckle as his expression turned to gratitude. She looked to Echo. “Tell us more about the Ice Nation?”  
  
“The storytellers say that the Ice Nation was once lush and green,” Echo replied. “But after the Dark Times, it stayed colder than even the oldest elders could remember… we have a summer, but it’s brief. Even spring and autumn mornings are frosty and cold, and our growing season is short. Many travelers die in our lands because they are unprepared for how quickly it can go from warm to freezing… but we rely on the ice. We melt it for water, we hunt the animals that live beneath it, and we use it to build some of our shelters.” She smiled a little. “The ice has a personality that must be respected.”  
  
“So why did it get colder?” Octavia asked, her brow furrowing a little. She only had a basic understanding of Earth Skills, and now she wished she’d paid better attention to Bellamy’s lessons. But of all the homework she’d steal or the books she’d devour, the ones that taught the reader how to survive the Earth seemed the least relevant to her. If only she’d known.  
  
“The bombs,” Bellamy said thoughtfully. “The war, it did that- nuclear winter. It won’t last forever.”  
  
“Every year it gets a little warmer,” Echo agreed with a shrug. “But for now, the ice is home.”  
  
“I went there once as a very young boy, with my father,” Lincoln spoke up. “It was a beautiful place. I remember how it glinted in the sun as we approached, but very little else.”  
  
“It is beautiful,” Echo agreed with a soft smile. “But you should know, it can be very dangerous.”  
  
“We’ll make sure to dress warmly,” Octavia said with a nod.  
  
“That’s not what I mean,” Echo answered, shaking her head.  
  
“The queen is a formidable enemy, right?” Bellamy said, remembering Lincoln’s warning from that morning.  
  
“She is,” Echo agreed. “And she does not like unexpected guests. As soon as we reach the outermost border of her territory, we will have an escort.”  
  
Octavia exchanged a glance with Bellamy before asking, “Why do I get the feeling that an escort is a lot worse than it sounds?”  
  
“We will be watched from the moment we enter Ice Nation territory,” Echo continued. “When they determine our course, that we mean to travel to the capital and speak with the queen, they will assign us a shadow child.”  
  
Bellamy blinked at her. “A what?”  
  
“Shadow child,” Lincoln said, and Octavia couldn’t help but notice the stricken expression on his face. “I thought they were a myth.”  
  
“No,” Echo answered. “They’re very real.”  
  
“Legend says that in the Ice Nation, a baby will occasionally be taken from its mother’s breast to be raised as an assassin,” Lincoln said. “They’re said to be more lethal than the most fearsome of warriors, and they have the power to be invisible.”  
  
“Invisible?” Octavia repeated skeptically.  
  
“They can kill you without you ever knowing they were there,” Lincoln insisted.  
  
“He’s right,” Echo said. “All of that is true.”  
  
“So why would they assign one to us?” Bellamy asked, shifting uncomfortably on his horse, clearly very unhappy about this. Octavia knew that would partly be because Bellamy didn’t like not knowing what was coming, but also because he had a soft spot for kids and would have trouble imagining one as a murderer. That was why Charlotte had been so difficult for him, and Octavia knew that the way he’d behaved with her was because of how he felt about Octavia herself. But from the looks on Lincoln and Echo’s faces, this was very different.  
  
“The shadow child will ensure that though we may request an audience with the queen, we will not harm her,” Echo explained. “They are more than assassins, more than bodyguards, even… they keep the peace by removing those who would create unrest _before_ they become a problem. Lincoln, you believe they are a myth because their deeds are not meant to be remembered.”  
  
“They sound pretty scary,” Octavia remarked nervously.  
  
“Yes,” Echo replied, looking at her with a serious expression on her face. “They can be absolutely terrifying. Pray you never end up on the wrong side of one.”  
  
Bellamy swallowed. “Okay then,” he said, not sounding happy about it at all. “Let’s add that to our list of things to avoid.”  
  
Echo shook her head. “There is no avoiding a shadow child,” she said. “If we are to have one, then we will have one. We can only be sure to give it no reason to kill us all.” Fixing them with a grim expression, she urged her horse forward.


	8. 8- Clarke

She couldn’t be sure how many days had passed because there was no window in her cell. She knew she was underground because she’d been taken down some stairs when she’d first arrived, but she’d been barely conscious then, and could remember very little else about her journey to the Ice Nation.  
  
Once the anesthetic they’d given her had worn off, Clarke had made a careful inventory of her cell. It didn’t take long- other than a bed of straw in the corner, a clay pot that she imagined was meant to be a latrine, and a ratty blanket, and there was nothing else in the room. She found no sharp objects to use as a weapon, nor anything that gave any indication of where she was.  
  
It was dark and cold, and the only light came from makeshift oil lamps that burned in the recesses of the walls outside her cell, which shone through a small slot just big enough to fit her hands. Looking through that gap gave her no useful information. The scariest part was that she could see fingernail scratches on the stone floor, leading towards the door- Clarke wondered how much time had passed since this cell’s last occupant was dragged out against their will.  
  
It seemed like forever before someone came to get her, and by then she was weak and exhausted from hunger and thirst. The man and woman who had come to escort her weren’t unlike other Grounders she’d seen, but they were dressed much more warmly and their tattoos seemed slightly different in both colour and style. Neither of them spoke to her, they just nodded towards her, indicating that she should follow. Clarke knew she had no choice.  
  
She was led out of her cell, back up the stairs, and down a few long corridors before being taken into a large and beautiful room. It was long and narrow, with high ceilings. There were big windows on both walls, but they were dark and only then did Clarke know it was night. There were several large fireplaces set in the walls on both sides, lit with roaring fires that created both heat and light. Clarke could see a dais at the other end of the room, with what could only be described as a throne set up on it. She could see a woman sitting there, waiting for her, and she couldn’t help but think of Lexa in her tent. This was just a more extravagant version of the same thing.  
  
Slowly she approached the platform, trying to keep her face calm even as she felt her heart pounding in her chest. All she could think about was the story Lexa had told her, about Costia and what this queen had done to her, an innocent girl who had committed no crime.  
  
As she got closer she could see that the queen deserved her title- she was regal, wearing a long gown made of fabric that Clarke had never seen on a Grounder before, silky and shiny, so that the queen glimmered when she moved. Clarke imagined that she would look particularly glittery when walking in the snow, which was probably the point. She was also wearing a headdress made of feathers and the antlers of a young deer, not large enough to weigh her head down but still imposing. Her hair was black, long, and straight, the front of it braided and the rest left to hang down her back. Her eyes were so dark they almost looked black as well, and her features were delicate, her posture perfect. She held her chin high, and her expression was impossible to read. She was older than Lexa, but still seemed young for the position she occupied.  
  
When Clarke reached the foot of the dais she had no idea what to do, but before she could think to do anything, her escorts put their hands on her shoulders and forced her to her knees. Clarke bowed her head, grateful for the moment to gather her thoughts, and then the hands were removed from her shoulder and she took the invitation to stand up again.  
  
Nervously she asked, “Do you speak English?”  
  
The queen seemed to bristle momentarily, but she gave a small nod. “If I must.”  
  
“Do not ask her any direct questions,” Clarke’s female escort hissed.  
  
“Sorry,” she answered. “I’ve never met a queen before.”  
  
“I am Elody of the Ice Nation,” the queen declared, pulling her attention back. “You are Clarke of the Sky People. Your people are allied with the eleven clans, led by Lexa of the Tree People.”  
  
There was a pause, and Clarke figured she was supposed to respond, “We were allied with Lexa, until recently,” she corrected in a way that she hoped was polite. She noted that Elody said ‘eleven clans,’ not twelve.  
  
The queen spoke to one of her men quickly in Trigedasleng, and he responded, but Clarke had no idea what they were saying. When Elody looked back to her, she seemed angry. “I have been told that you made an alliance with _Trikru_ and the other clans in order to defeat the mountain.”  
  
“That’s right,” Clarke said carefully. “But as I understood it, the Ice Nation was one of those clans.”  
  
“And yet I was not informed of this new alliance,” the queen countered.  
  
“It happened very quickly,” Clarke said. “I’m sure Lexa meant no disrespect.”  
  
“Of course _you_ would say that.”  
  
Clarke frowned a little and tried to figure out how to respond to that. Finally she settled for, “I don’t know what you mean, exactly.”  
  
“I’m told that Lexa took you into her confidence very quickly,” Elody explained. “I’m told that you were given her explicit protection, that she killed some of her own people in order to protect you, and that she allowed _you,_ an outsider, to complete a death ritual following a massacre committed by a Sky Person.”  
  
“Yes,” Clarke said. “That’s all true. But-”  
  
“Lexa is a careful commander,” the queen interrupted. “Her treaty with you was clearly more than tactical. She would only behave the way that she has if you were her lover rather than simply her ally.”  
  
Clarke felt her face flaming. “I assure you, that isn’t the case,” she said.  
  
Elody’s face suddenly darkened. “You would lie to my face?”  
  
“I’m not lying,” Clarke answered quickly. “Lexa betrayed me. Me and my people.”  
  
“And yet the mountain _has_ fallen,” the queen replied, clearly not believing her.  
  
“No thanks to her,” Clarke replied bitterly.  
  
“So you are saying that you had no help from the clans? That you destroyed the mountain that has been plaguing our people for a hundred years, single-handedly?”  
  
“No. Not single-handedly. It was a team effort… but Lexa wasn’t involved. She made her choice.”  
  
“But before that,” Elody insisted. “You _were_ her lover.”  
  
“That’s none of your business,” Clarke snapped. “What do you want from me?” Instantly her escorts were back on her, forcing her to her knees again.  
  
“You must beg forgiveness for disrespecting the queen,” one growled at her.  
  
Clarke tried to fight to her feet but she was held in place. She said nothing.  
  
“What I want from _you,_ Clarke of the Sky People, is information,” Elody answered, her voice edged with anger. “I want to know what you know about Lexa, about the coalition.”  
  
“I don’t understand,” Clarke said. “You’re her ally… ask her.”  
  
“We are not allies anymore,” Elody replied with a shake of her head. “Lexa disrespects the Ice Nation by keeping us in the dark again and again. We were never fully dedicated to the alliance, but we remained a part of it while it suited us. That time has now passed.”  
  
“So what, then?” Clarke asked with surprise. “You’re going to declare war on the other eleven clans?”  
  
“Do _not_ question the queen!” her male escort growled. He ripped Clarke’s head up by her hair and backhanded her so hard that Clarke saw stars.  
  
“You must learn respect,” Elody said calmly. “And you must learn your place. If you cooperate, if you tell me what it is I want to know, then you can go home. And if you will not speak, then we will use our ways to force you to tell us what it is we want to know. And then you will die.”  
  
“Just like you did with Costia,” Clarke said, remembering at the last second to frame it as a statement and not a question.  
  
The queen ignored that, nodding to her escorts and speaking again in Trigedasleng. Clarke was pulled back to her feet and then Elody reverted to English and said, “Because you have answered my questions today, you may have food and drink, and if you continue to answer me, then you will continue to be treated well.”  
  
Clarke wanted to challenge her definition of ‘well,’ but she held her tongue as Elody continued, “But if you do not, I have men and women skilled in causing immense pain. It is your choice whether you are a prisoner or a guest here, Clarke. I will give you the night to consider your options, and then we will have breakfast together.”  
  
Before Clarke could answer to that either way, she was hustled out of Elody’ chamber and through the corridors, down the stairs, and back to her cell. “My people will come for me,” she told her escorts, though she doubted they even knew where she was or even that she was in trouble. She knew that was no one’s fault but her own.  
  
“Then they, too, will die,” the female escort answered her shortly. “Long before they ever reach you.”  
  
Clarke was thrown into the cell and the heavy door was locked behind her. She listened to the footsteps trail away as she forced herself to keep her breathing calm, trying not to panic. She turned away from the door and was surprised to see a tray of food and a cup of water waiting for her. She remembered Mount Weather, how she had refused their food at first, and a big part of her wanted to do the same now, but she was so hungry and it smelled delicious, and she knew that if they were really after information then poisoning her would do no good.  
  
Sitting down on the straw, Clarke began eating, going over in her mind what she should do. Part of her wanted to just do as the queen asked, tell her everything and anything she wanted to know about the Commander and the clans- after all, Clarke had been betrayed so badly, why should she protect Lexa? But even as she had that thought she knew she couldn’t do that. Her feelings for Lexa might have soured following the deal that had been made outside the door to Mount Weather, but that didn’t mean she would help the queen to cause pain and suffering to eleven clans of people. Besides, Clarke’s own people could be affected too, since they would no longer have any protection under the coalition.  
  
Clarke knew she would have to be strong, have to keep a firm resolve. After she finished eating, she lay down in the straw and closed her eyes. She dreamt of Lexa, of Costia, of Bellamy and Mount Weather. She imagined her own head, cut off and mounted on a pike, dripping bright red blood into the snow.


	9. 9- Octavia

She sat in front of the campfire, watching the way the soft light cast shadows that seemed to dance and change against the trees. It made her think of the shadow child that Echo had mentioned, but there was still no sign of one. Lincoln still seemed doubtful about it, as though he didn’t _really_ believe they could be real, despite Echo’s assurances that they were.  
  
Lincoln and Bellamy had gone to sleep, but she and Echo were still awake, sitting side by side across from the men. Octavia hadn’t had much chance to sit with Echo alone, but this was her chance- Lincoln was accustomed with sleeping and rising with the sun, and Bellamy had been unusually tired tonight.  
  
Echo seemed lost in her own thoughts as she repaired a hole in one of the seams of her jacket. Octavia took the opportunity to watch the older woman carefully. She had never known someone from the Ice Nation before, not really. There had been a few of its citizens in tonDC for the summit, before Mount Weather had bombed the village, but she hadn’t had a chance to talk to any of them. Rumours had spread fast that Indra’s second was a Sky Person, and most had given her a wide berth during that time.  
  
There was a sudden hiss of pain as Echo poked herself in the finger with her needle, and she threw down the jacket in frustration. Octavia smiled a little and reached her hand out. Echo was momentarily surprised, but she handed it over to her and watched as Octavia started laying down careful stitches, bringing the seam back together.  
  
“My fingers are not so nimble,” Echo complained. “I can wield a sword and a knife with ease, but skill with a sewing needle has always escaped me.”  
  
“Back on the Ark, my mother made clothes,” Octavia explained. “She taught me as soon as I could sit still long enough. I helped her all the time.”  
  
“What was that place like?” Echo asked curiously. “The debris at Camp Jaha is so large, but I’m told the whole Ark was far bigger. Is it true you could see the whole world from your windows?”  
  
Octavia shook her head. “Not for me,” she said. “Bellamy and I lived on Factory Station… that’s where most of the labourers lived. Our quarters were cramped- just one room… no windows. I did see the Earth once, though- when I was fifteen.” She still remembered that day so vividly, not just because it was the day she was hauled off to the Skybox, but even before that it had been so significant. For so much of her life, she had dreamt about seeing the Ark, begging over and over to be allowed out of that room, and then finally, suddenly, Bellamy had taken her outside.  
  
She could still remember how the Earth had looked out the window, the beautiful blue and green, the moon hovering just above the surface of the planet, a slight glow to both orbs. “It was really beautiful,” she said. “Breathtaking.”  
  
Her hand went to her throat as she thought of a necklace Bellamy had given to her when she’d turned thirteen and that was lost now, crashed to the ground with the Ark and surely destroyed. It had been a surprisingly realistic rendition of the globe, the blue and green sand encased in a sphere of glass. She had treasured that necklace, treasured what it stood for, but she also knew that she was not that same person anymore. She was no longer the scared little girl hiding under the floor, just wishing she could see a moonrise. She was now a woman grown, a warrior, and every day her feet were planted firmly on the Earth of her dreams.  
  
Echo listened to her story, nodding thoughtfully. “The Ark is a strange place,” she remarked. “Your laws and customs are confusing to me.”  
  
Octavia laughed a little. “You and me both,” she said, putting the final stitch into the jacket and tying off the thread.  
  
She handed it back and watched as Echo tested the seam with an approving nod. “Thank you.”  
  
A comfortable silence passed between them before Octavia asked, “So Bellamy didn’t really tell me the full story of how you two know each other so well.”  
  
“We don’t,” Echo answered, shaking her head a little. “But extreme times will bond people in short order.”  
  
Octavia nodded, her eyes drifting over to Lincoln’s sleeping form across from them. “Yeah. I get that.”  
  
“He and I were caged next to each other inside the mountain,” Echo told her. “I wasn’t happy to be sharing my space with a Sky Person, but your brother soon proved himself to me. It did not feel right to leave him behind.”  
  
“That was Lexa’s doing,” Octavia said, her voice bitter. “She betrayed us.”  
  
Echo seemed to hesitate. Finally she said, “I understand why you would feel that way about it.”  
  
“But you and Bellamy are good?” Octavia asked, not really wanting to talk about Lexa. “There’s no hard feelings between you?”  
  
“I don’t believe so.”  
  
Octavia cracked a smile. “I thought maybe he annoyed you.”  
  
“Oh, he does,” Echo agreed. “He can be quite infuriating.”  
  
With a small laugh, Octavia nodded her head. “Trust me,” she said. “I get that.”  
  
“You are his sister… that’s different,” Echo pointed out.  
  
“Do you have a brother?”  
  
“I have three,” she answered with a nod. “And four sisters.”  
  
Octavia’s eyes widened. “Wow… eight kids? My mom was killed for having two.”  
  
“Yes, I’m sorry,” Echo said delicately, pausing briefly out of respect. “We come from very different worlds.”  
  
“So what number were you?” she asked, not really wanting to think about her mother any more than she wanted to think about Lexa.  
  
“I was third,” Echo answered. “And the second girl.”  
  
“Are they all back in the Ice Nation?”  
  
“No,” she replied with a shake of her head and a soft sigh. “My oldest brother and sister both died in battle- one in the field, one afterward from a festered wound. The sister born after me was killed in a fire, my youngest brother died of plague, and my youngest sister died in childbirth. I have two siblings left… male and female twins, born four summers after I was. They both live in the capital.”  
  
“I’m so sorry,” Octavia said, totally horrified. She imagined losing Bellamy five times over, and she couldn’t even fathom the grief.  
  
“Life is harsh,” Echo said gently. “It is common to have many children in the hopes that one or two might live long enough to bury you.”  
  
It was hard to know how to respond to that, so Octavia didn’t, and both women slipped into another comfortable silence, watching the flickering of the firelight. Finally Octavia asked gently, “Will you see your brother and sister when we get to the capital?”  
  
“Perhaps,” Echo answered with some hesitation. “If things go well with the queen, and if my seeing them will not bring trouble down on them, then yes- I would like that.”  
  
“This queen sounds pretty scary,” Octavia remarked nervously.  
  
Again, Echo hesitated. “She is powerful,” she said finally, carefully. “She does what is best for the nation… for our people… as any leader should.”  
  
Octavia scowled into the fire. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” she said dryly. “It’s what made Lexa betray us. There’s a difference between doing what’s best for your own and screwing other people over in the process.”  
  
“I am grateful that I have never been called to lead,” Echo said simply. Internally, Octavia agreed whole-heartedly. She had watched her brother and Clarke struggle with the burdens of leadership, and it didn’t look fun at all.  
  
The moon was now bright in the sky, the sun long since set, and Octavia knew they would be moving again at first light. She was now long since used to sleeping on the ground, and the furs made a cosy bed even as they got further and further north. Once or twice there had been frost on the ground in the morning, but Octavia knew there would be much colder temperatures to come. She was looking forward to seeing snow.  
  
Letting out a yawn, Octavia pulled to her feet and bid Echo goodnight, heading over to hers and Lincoln’s bed. She lay down next to him and tucked herself into the furs. Still mostly asleep, Lincoln rolled over and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his chest. Octavia closed her eyes and breathed in his familiar scent, letting his warmth cocoon her into sleep.  
  
  
Some time later, she woke with a jolt. Lincoln was sleeping next to her, his breath soft and warm against her face, and didn’t seem to be disturbed. At first she thought she might have had a nightmare, but she couldn’t remember.  
  
Then she heard a soft sound, somewhere between a groan and a cry, and belatedly she realised it sounded like Bellamy’s voice. Carefully she untangled herself from Lincoln and got out of the bed, hurrying to her brother’s side.  
  
Bellamy’s hair was plastered to his face with sweat, his breath was coming in quick and shallow gasps, and when she touched his chest she could feel his heart pounding beneath her palm. She grabbed his cheeks in her hand and shook him lightly, trying to wake him up, thinking maybe he was just having a terrible dream, but his skin felt as hot as fire.  
  
“Bell?” she whispered anxiously when he didn’t wake up, her heart starting to pound as well. “Bellamy?”  
  
When his eyelids finally fluttered open she let out a breath of relief, but just as quickly that relief turned again to fear as she saw how cloudy his eyes were, his pupils dilated. She laid her hand on his cheek and tried to get him to look at her but he seemed disoriented, unable to focus.  
  
“Bell, can you hear me?” she demanded, tapping his face with her hand. She no longer cared about being quiet, and she heard Lincoln and Echo both stirring at the volume of her voice.  
  
“O,” he whispered, and seemed to have as much trouble getting his words out as he did focusing on her face. “Something’s wrong.”  
  
She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I know, but I’m right here,” she said, and added their childhood mantra, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”  
  
Lincoln and Echo had now gotten up and they were at Octavia’s side, looking at Bellamy with deep, concerned lines etched into both their foreheads.  
  
“Has he been injured?” Echo asked.  
  
“No, he was just sleeping,” Octavia answered quickly. “He was just laying here.”  
  
Lincoln touched Bellamy’s forehead and when he felt the extent of his fever he hurried to his bag, pulling out pouches and vials of medicine and starting to mix things together in a wooden cup.  
  
Echo ripped Bellamy’s shirt open and laid her ear on his chest, frowning as she listened to his heart and lungs. She pulled the furs off him and carefully examined his chest, which looked normal other than the beads of sweat that covered him from head to toe. Without ceremony Echo pulled down Bellamy’s pants and examined each bare leg carefully, turning them from side to side.  
  
Octavia watched Echo’s every move closely, noticing how her frown just seemed to get deeper and deeper. “What’s wrong with him?” she demanded when she couldn’t stand the silence anymore.  
  
“Help me roll him,” Echo ordered curtly, not answering the question. Octavia did as she asked and Echo pushed the back of Bellamy’s shirt up, running her hands over his back carefully. Still she seemed dissatisfied with her findings.  
  
Only when she pulled off his boots did she freeze, obviously having located what she was searching for. There on his right lower calf, just above the bump of his ankle, was a small but angry-looking mark, a dark bluish-red like the start of an abscess, surrounded on all sides by pink, inflamed skin.  
  
“So what is it?” Octavia demanded. It was such a little thing.  
  
Lincoln returned to Bellamy’s side and tilted his head up, helping him to drink the bitter liquid he had prepared. “To bring down his fever,” he explained to Octavia as Bellamy coughed and sputtered but managed to swallow most of it.  
  
“Bellamy,” Echo called sharply to him. “When were you bitten?”  
  
Lincoln looked down and saw the wound, and Octavia watched his face change as the gravity of the situation hit him. “It was a spider,” he told her grimly. “A very dangerous spider.”  
  
“I wasn’t bitten… by anything,” Bellamy said with what seemed like great effort.  
  
“Yes you were, Bell,” Octavia answered, tears welling up in her eyes. “It’s bad, right?” she asked the two Grounders, her attention settling on Lincoln because she knew he would tell her the truth. “How bad?”  
  
Lincoln swallowed and shook his head at her. “He may die.”  
  
A cry caught in her throat but she forced down her panic. “So what do we do?”  
  
“Medicine,” Echo said to Lincoln urgently. “Do you carry any leechdom?”  
  
“No,” he replied, shaking his head with obvious dismay. “But I do have many of the ingredients, and the rest we should be able to gather nearby.”  
  
Echo shook her head. “That won’t matter. It must stand for nine days before use and he won’t last that long.”  
  
Octavia was torn between wanting to listen to the conversation and not wanting to hear any of it because it was so clear how dangerous this was for her brother. Her only comfort was the fact that Bellamy seemed too out of it to understand what was going on. She covered him back up with the furs and kept hold of his hand. Every time his eyes started to close she squeezed it tightly, afraid that he might slip away if she let him sleep.  
  
Lincoln was frowning thoughtfully at Bellamy as though trying to decide how close to death he really was. It reminded Octavia of the time he’d been desperate to save her from her poisoned arrow wound, and she worried about what he might be thinking. “Perhaps one of the villages…” he suggested uncertainly.  
  
“We are not on _Trikru_ land anymore,” Echo warned. “This is Plains Clan territory, and we are all outsiders to them.”  
  
“We have no choice,” Lincoln said firmly. “They may be willing to trade with us.”  
  
Echo looked at Bellamy doubtfully. “He cannot ride.”  
  
“Octavia, we’ll go,” Lincoln said to her. “Echo can stay with Bellamy.”  
  
“No,” she answered immediately, shaking her head and tightening her hand around Bellamy’s like a vice. “I’m not leaving him.”  
  
“He needs medicine,” Echo said impatiently. “You can do nothing else for him. I will keep him safe until you return.”  
  
“And alive?” Octavia snapped. “Will you keep him alive?”  
  
Echo seemed to soften as she heard the obvious fear in her voice, underneath her anger. “I will do all that I can,” she promised gently. “You have my word.”  
  
Octavia knew she had no choice. She leaned down and hugged her brother tightly, telling him he wasn’t allowed to die, and then she went with Lincoln.  
  
Her last impression of Bellamy was how small he looked, like a frightened little boy, his eyes full of a dread that mirrored her own as he watched her ride away.


	10. 10- Clarke

Each day with the queen was the same as the last. Clarke was mostly left alone in her cell- bored, hungry, and thirsty- until sunset, at which point she would be escorted up to the Elody’s private quarters to share her evening meal. For each question she answered, Clarke was allowed a spoonful of food or a sip of water. For each question she refused to answer, she was punished.  
  
Progress was slow, and Clarke was starving, thin and gaunt, skin ashen and eyes ringed with dark circles. Elody, however, seemed not to notice her discomfort at all, and appeared to have endless patience. The queen didn’t seem to care whether it took one day or one year for Clarke to give her all the information that she wanted. The questions were relentless, but it was the only human contact that Clarke had. Still, she couldn’t figure the woman out, as she seemed to vacillate between friendliness and coldness at a moment’s notice.  
  
The punishments involved a lot of discomfort. Clarke had figured out that the Ice Nation’s biggest source of pride was its plethora of herbs. Despite the fact that snow covered the ground for much of the year, Elody told her of what sounded like a kind of greenhouse, kept by almost every family in the land, where they grew all kinds of plants- some were used for food, some were medicinal, and others were grown for darker purposes. There seemed to be many people in the queen’s service who seemed to have extensive knowledge of herbal lore, as well as how to distill and brew tinctures and other solutions. All the meals Clarke was given were heavily spiced, and even the drinks she was offered were mulled, sweetened, and fortified with seasonings.  
  
But Clarke became even more familiar the mixtures they used to cause pain. Elody kept a man at the dinner table with them whose sole purpose seemed to be to enforce Clarke’s punishments whenever she said something that didn’t please the queen.  
  
Her first encounter with this man, whose name was Alek, was on the very first night that Elody had her escorted in for dinner. The meal laid out in front of her was mouthwatering, and at first when Clarke was invited to sit she was relieved, thinking that the queen wanted to discuss peace, or maybe even her release.  
  
The questions had started right away, and there seemed to be no logic to them. Sometimes it was clear that Elody wanted information about Lexa, about the alliance, or about the Sky People. Other times she seemed strangely curious about the details of Clarke’s life, her parents and upbringing, her friends. She didn’t want to say anything that the queen could use against her or anyone else, but with the questions being so random it was difficult to stay defensive.  
  
“So your leaders killed your father because he wanted to tell his people the truth about a danger that would affect them directly,” she asked early on, the first question that caught Clarke complete off-guard. “Did you find that to be a fair punishment?”  
  
“Did I find it _fair?”_ Clarke couldn’t help but sputter.  
  
Elody had nodded her head to Alek, who in turn had reached out and pushed Clarke’s plate of food away. In its place he had unrolled a long strip of leather, which was lined with many loops of sinew. About two thirds of the loops were filled with small, sharp darts, each one wrapped in coloured thread and capped with a feather of the same colour. Some were bright yellow, others were deep purple, and there were also black, red, blue, and green darts. Each dart was only about two centimeters long; the pointed end was fashioned with a thin sliver of what looked like bone, sharpened into a tiny needle. The remaining third of the loops held small glass vials filled with various liquids, some as dark as amber, others nearly as clear as water.  
  
She had looked at the equipment with great apprehension, but neither Alek nor Elody had explained their presence.  
  
“Did you find it a fair punishment?” the queen had asked again.  
  
Carefully Clarke had met her eyes and said, “No. I thought it was terribly unfair.”  
  
“And then they executed him,” Elody had said. “By… what is it you call it?”  
  
“Floating,” Clarke had answered softly. She could still see her father’s face, twisted and frozen in pain as the air was sucked from his lungs half a second before he was sucked from the airlock.  
  
“Yes, floating.” The queen nodded, leaning forward as though greatly intrigued. “Now explain that process to me.”  
  
“Please,” Clarke had said, closing her eyes momentarily. “I don’t want to relive it.”  
  
Elody leaned back in her chair, her black eyes seeming even darker than usual. Again she nodded to Alek. He reached forward and carefully plucked one of the darts out of its loop; Clarke noted that he’d chosen a yellow one. He carefully uncapped one of the vials of semi-clear liquid, and he dipped the sharp end of the dart into the tincture, letting it sit there for a few seconds before extracting it once again. The fluid glistened over the entire length of the bone needle.  
  
Alek had seized her wrist in his hand and flattened her palm against the table. When he’d lined the sharp end up with the tender flesh between Clarke’s first and second finger, she’d tried to pull her hand away, but his grip was like a vice. With surgical precision, he’d slid the tiny needle just under her skin, until the entire length of bone was buried between Clarke’s knuckles. It was extremely uncomfortable, but then after a few seconds, she’d felt a searing pain. It started as tingling, but then a slow burning started to grow along the span of the dart.  
  
Clarke had gasped, again trying to pull her hand away, but Alek had held onto her tightly. Both he and Elody were silent as Clarke cried out and struggled, neither seeming affected by her outburst. After what seemed like a very precise length of time, Alek removed the dart from her hand, cleaned it carefully, and slid it back into its loop. He rolled the case up again and returned the plate of food to Clarke.  
  
“Now,” Elody had said calmly, taking a bite of her dinner, chewing thoughtfully, and swallowing. “Shall we talk about your father’s execution?”

 

This went on for days.

 

Clarke soon discovered that yellow was for pain, but she had no idea what the other colours designated. The liquids Alek used created different sensations, all uncomfortable- some stung, some burned, while others throbbed or carried a terrible itch. Still others combined these sensations in disturbing ways.  
  
There was never a night when Clarke didn’t have at least some experience with the darts. They were always used when she flat-out refused to answer a question, but they were also introduced when she avoided giving a full answer, when Elody didn’t like her response, or when Clarke asked a question of her own that the queen found offensive, disrespectful, or unnecessary.  
  
It was maddening, and each day that she was taken up for dinner she felt a horrible sense of dread. Even though she was starving, she often lost her appetite on her way to the queen’s chamber, and thus she didn’t always eat a full meal. Through this very simple method of torture, the queen caused both physical and psychological torment with very little overt consequences to Clarke’s body. Only a close examination of her hands would reveal the hundreds of pinpricks that dotted between all her fingers.  
  
Once, Elody mentioned Costia in passing, saying, “The Commander’s woman was brave for a long time, too. But everyone breaks, Clarke. You should not be ashamed when it happens to you.”  
  
“So is that when you killed her?” Clarke asked bitterly, knowing the question would earn her another dart. Sure enough, Alek inserted one between her third and fourth fingers, and as the intense sensation of fire spread through her hand she pulled in shaky breaths and managed to ask, “You killed her because Lexa loved her, didn’t you? You couldn’t kill Lexa so you killed Costia instead.”  
  
“No,” Elody answered calmly. “I killed her because I was finished with her.”  
  
Clarke met the woman’s eyes and she knew her own were filled with hatred. “So what will happen when you’re finished with me?”  
  
For a long moment the queen gazed at her, eyes slightly narrowed, saying nothing. But instead of ordering another dart for that defiance, she nodded to Alek and the one in Clarke’s hand was withdrawn. Her food was returned to her and finally Elody said, quietly, “You are more interesting than she was.”  
  
Clarke could only shake her head. Such was the mystery of the Ice Nation queen.


	11. 11- Octavia

She and Lincoln rode in silence toward the nearest village; technically they were backtracking, but Lincoln wasn’t sure how close they were to the next village along their journey, and they’d passed this one just the day before. Echo had advised them to stay away from the villages of the Plains Clan, and so they’d only seen it at a distance, from the top of a mountain, but now they started to descend that same mountain, making a beeline right for it. Echo hadn’t elaborated as to _why_ they should avoid the villages in this region, but now Octavia could think of little else.  
  
“Are the Plains Clan dangerous?” she asked Lincoln.  
  
He looked surprised that she’d spoken at all after hours of silence, but he said, “They are mysterious. Little is known about them or their people.”  
  
“Echo seemed to think they were dangerous,” she insisted.  
  
“I think Echo knows very little about them, and it’s her way to err on the side of caution,” he replied.  
  
“Is my brother going to die?” she asked abruptly, swallowing hard.  
  
Lincoln leaned over from his horse towards hers and grabbed her hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “Not if we have anything to say about it.”  
  
She shot him a grateful look and squeezed his hand back before letting go.  
  
It was almost a three-hour trip from where they’d left Bellamy to the village, which sprawled at the base of the mountain, and Octavia was acutely aware of each passing minute since she knew Bellamy needed them to be quick. The village wasn’t large, not nearly as big as tonDC, but there was a marketplace in the town square, where Lincoln hoped they would find the remedy they needed.  
  
They rode their horses toward the centre of town, attracting many inquisitive gazes as they did so. It was clear they’d been immediately pegged as strangers, but no one seemed to treat them with fear or apprehension, just curiosity, and they moved freely through the village.  
  
Even if Octavia had not known where they were, she still would have known that this was no _Trikru_ village. The people dressed differently, did their hair differently, and seemed to speak a dialect that was slightly different from the Trigedasleng that Octavia knew. She could understand some of what was being said, but certain words sounded completely foreign to her. No one spoke directly to them as they continued along the pathways.  
  
At the centre of town was a large clearing, surrounded on all sides by a series of booths, set up so the vendors could sell their wares. But Lincoln didn’t seem interested in any of this, and he kept looking around like he was searching for something in particular. Before she could ask what that might be, he approached a man and spoke to him, and Octavia recognised the word _fisa,_ which she knew meant healer. They were directed to a small hut not far away, set apart from the others due to its huge garden, which appeared to be filled with medicinal herbs. Octavia could see smoke coming from the hut’s chimney, so she was hopeful that someone would be home. They dismounted near the gate, and Lincoln took the lead in approaching the front door.  
  
The woman who came to the door was exactly who Octavia might have imagined- her face was kindly and lined, she had long, graying hair that looked like it might have never been cut in her entire life, and behind her an iron pot bubbled away on a fire in the centre of the room, filling the whole hut with a truly pungent odour.  
  
_“Osir laik Lincoln en Okteivia kom Trikru.”_ Lincoln introduced them. “A friend of ours has been bitten by the _kalipau_. We beg your help, wise woman.” Octavia watched as he inclined his head slightly in a sign of respect, and quickly she did the same.  
  
_“Ai laik Lala kom Grassakru,”_ she answered politely.  
  
They were invited into the hut and given cups of tea. Octavia wanted badly to speed this along, get the medicine and leave, but she knew she had to be respectful and let Lincoln handle this.  
  
It seemed Lala did not speak English, but Octavia understood most of the conversation as she and Lincoln chatted politely about her children and grandchildren, Lincoln’s origins, and what had brought them to her village. Octavia noted that only with this last question did Lincoln avoid the truth, and he told the woman that he, Octavia, and Octavia’s brother were passing through on their way from tonDC and that they intended to visit a friend of Lincoln’s in another village to the west. He claimed they were just passing through the area and a deadly spider had bitten Bellamy in his sleep. The story was true enough. He made no mention of Echo or the Ice Nation.  
  
The old woman clucked her tongue in sympathy and she left the hut, going out the back door and leaving them alone in front of the fire.  
  
“She’ll help us,” Lincoln said with great relief.  
  
Octavia nodded. “Thank God,” closing her eyes briefly. “So Bellamy will be okay? It’ll work, right… the leechdom?” She didn’t even know what that was, but she trusted that Lincoln knew what he was talking about, and Echo had also seemed certain that it would help.  
  
“The faster he gets it, the better off he’ll be,” Lincoln said. It wasn’t the certainty she wanted, but it was better than nothing. “But we must be careful,” he said. “Speak Trigedasleng or don’t speak at all.”  
  
Before she could ask him to elaborate on that warning, Lala returned to the hut, carrying what looked like a copper pot. She seemed to struggle under its weight, so Lincoln quickly jumped to his feet and helped her to carry it over to a bench in the corner of the room. When she opened the lid, an overpoweringly bitter smell invaded the small room. It almost smelled like food, but not any kind of food that Octavia would want to eat.  
  
Lincoln helped Lala to pour some of the liquid into a small clay pot with a fitted lid, careful not to spill a drop.  
  
“Not all of it?” Octavia whispered to him, being sure to say it in Trigedasleng, but despite the fact that she was speaking the language, her accent was obvious, and Lala seemed to pause, giving her a hard look.  
  
“No,” Lincoln answered, still speaking Trigedasleng. “The rest will help others.”  
  
Octavia wanted to take the whole copper pot, to make sure Bellamy would recover, but she held her tongue, trusting Lincoln to know what was best. The old woman was still staring at her, and it made her want to squirm, but she tried to ignore it and remain neutral.  
  
Carefully Lala melted wax along the internal rim of the clay pot, pressing the lid tightly into it to create a seal. She tied a length of sinew around and around the clay pot, tying it off tightly at the top so even on horseback the contents would not spill. She handed the pot to Lincoln and gave him instructions on how to administer the remedy, most of which Octavia could understand and some of which was lost on her.  
  
The steps she relayed seemed to be partly medicinal and partly mystical- the liquid was meant to be applied as a salve and also Bellamy was to swallow some of it, but first they had to touch droplets of it to his forehead and to the palms of his hands with a leafy willow branch, spreading them in clockwise spirals. This part of the instruction was given equal weight as the actual drinking and applying of the medicine. Lincoln listened to all of it, nodding along, and Octavia wondered privately whether he believed in the magical part or not.  
  
Next, there was a discussion of payment. Octavia knew that Lala would want something she would consider to be of equal value to the precious medicine she was providing them. She didn’t fully understand everything that had gone into the remedy, but she remembered Echo saying it was a brew that took nine days to prepare, so she imagined it was fairly specialised.  
  
After a long moment of thought, Lala asked them for one of their horses. She explained that her own horse had grown too old to travel further than the village, and she needed a hardy steed to take her up into the mountains to gather the more difficult ingredients she required for some of her medicines. Lincoln agreed, and after he had transferred his things across to Octavia’s horse, he handed Lala the reigns to his own. She blessed them, and wished them well.  
  
Lincoln set the pot carefully into one of the saddlebags and the two of them mounted the horse together. “Why didn’t you negotiate?” Octavia asked. “Don’t Grounders haggle? A horse seems like a lot for a pot of medicine.”  
  
“A wise woman such as her would never ask for more than what is fair,” he answered, shaking his head. She could feel his voice rumbling through her chest where it was pressed up against his back. “Healers are considered sacred, unquestionable. It would be unthinkable to try to negotiate with one- you accept their gift and pay them gratefully for their work.”  
  
Octavia couldn’t help but think of how she’d treated Nyko- a healer, what Grounders would call a wise man- after Lincoln had been take captive in his own village. She couldn’t help but feel guilty, even though she knew she would have done nothing different if allowed to do it over, since it had saved Lincoln from a torturous death. “No wonder Indra told me that Nyko was their only healer when I brought him to tonDC to trade for you,” she remarked.  
  
Lincoln nodded his head. “Yes. Healers are considered off-limits, even in times of war. She was only willing to trade me for him after she realised that Sky People do not hold that same belief.”  
  
“Well lucky us, then,” she said sincerely, tightening her arms around his stomach momentarily. She could tell by his posture that he didn’t totally agree with her, but he said nothing about it.  
  
“This medicine will help your brother,” he told her. “Hopefully it will save him.”  
  
“How often do people die from this kind of spider?” she couldn’t help but asking.  
  
Lincoln said nothing for a long time. She watched as they reached the edge of the village and then into the forest again, turning back towards the mountain. Finally he said, “It is a very dangerous spider.”  
  
“He can’t die, Lincoln,” she said fiercely, as if her words alone could keep her brother alive. “He can’t.”  
  
Lincoln reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly. The view began to change as the horse angled upward, starting to climb the steep incline. “And we are doing everything we can to stop that from happening,” he said softly, reassuringly.  
  
Octavia took comfort in those words, but as she watched the landscape rolling by, she could feel a nagging fear growing in the pit of her stomach, as if a deep instinct was telling her that things would not be so simple.  
  
That was when she saw the figures at the top of the mountain.


	12. 12- Clarke

Elody was not a person Clarke would claim to understand, or even begin to know. She tried, with growing desperation, to figure out exactly how to find some kind of in with the queen, how to befriend her or at least interest her enough to make the torture stop. But even if the torture did have to continue, she wanted to at least keep herself alive.  
  
She had no reason to think that any of her friends or even her mother would be looking for her, since no one would even know she was in trouble. Therefore, she knew she would have to rely on her own wits to get her out of this, and so far she had not found a way to get on the queen’s good side. Other than the one comment Elody had made about finding Clarke more interesting than Costia, the only content to their conversations were the queen’s endless questions.  
  
Today she asked, “Why were you all alone in the wilderness, without even a weapon or a bedroll?”  
  
Clarke closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her patience before she replied, “I needed to be alone… to think.”  
  
“Think,” Elody repeated, clearly unimpressed.  
  
Even though she didn’t want to give her any kind of reaction, Clarke felt her face grow hot. She knew, now, how childish it seemed, to go running off from her people because she was guilt-ridden. She thought of Bellamy and felt a rush of shame, thinking of how she’d abandoned him to look after the others because she couldn’t face what they’d done inside Mount Weather. Now she wished that she could just go home and see all the faces she had sworn she couldn’t bear.  
  
“I felt guilty,” she said finally, softly. All of Elody’s questions felt like she was poking at tender bruises, painful and intrusive.  
  
“About your role in the destruction of Mount Weather,” the queen said.  
  
She drew in a deep breath and let it out again. “That’s right.”  
  
“Tell me more about that,” the queen said. “You said that it was a team effort, but that Lexa was not involved.”  
  
Clarke couldn’t believe how many days it had taken to circle back to this. Slowly she nodded. “The Mountain Men had taken our people and Lexa’s,” she explained. “We had a plan to take them down, but at the last minute Lexa made a deal with the Mountain Men behind my back. Her people were freed, but mine weren’t.”  
  
“Yes,” Elody said with a nod. “The mountains have taken many lives.”  
  
Clarke started to nod, but then suddenly she frowned. “Wait, what?” She blinked at the queen, thinking she might have misheard her. “Did you say ‘mountains’?”  
  
For the moment Elody didn’t seem to mind her asking a question of her own. “I did,” she agreed with a nod.  
  
“Mountains, _plural?”_ Clarke insisted, still not understanding.  
  
“Do you not know of the network?” Elody asked, seeming a bit surprised, or maybe amused. It was hard to tell.  
  
“No,” she answered. “No, I have no idea what you’re talking about. What network?”  
  
For a few moments the queen seemed to toy with the idea of answering her, but then she just said, “Tell me more about what happened inside Mount Weather. How did the mountain come to fall?”  
  
Clarke’s heart was racing, but she knew it was important that she pretend not to care. She couldn’t look eager about anything or she knew Elody would use it against her and she couldn’t bear to give her any more ammunition. Carefully she said, “Part of our plan had been to have an inside man within Mount Weather to coordinate our attack… to disable the acid fog, mainly, and communicate to us what was going on inside. We were going to distract them while the prisoners snuck out the back door, through the tunnels. But-”  
  
“How did you intend to bypass the Reapers?” the queen interrupted suddenly.  
  
Clarke hesitated. She tried to think if there was any harm in telling her about the tone generators, but after all, the Reapers were gone- either healed or dead from withdrawal- so she couldn’t see why she should keep it a secret. “We found a way to duplicate the technology that Mount Weather used to control them. But it turns out we didn’t need them. The Reapers weren’t there.”  
  
“Why not?” Elody pressed.  
  
“I don’t know,” Clarke admitted. “They just weren’t. Maybe they thought everyone had retreated when Lexa’s army was withdrawn.”  
  
“And then what happened?”  
  
Clarke didn’t want to give Elody anything that would give her ammunition against anyone else that she cared about. She wanted to leave Octavia, and also their conversation in the caves, out of the story, so she just said, “I got in the back door, and I irradiated the facility.”  
  
“Come now, Clarke,” she said with a small smile. “You and I both know there is much more to that story.”  
  
“We got lucky,” Clarke answered tactfully.  
  
“And who is ‘we’?” Elody asked. “Who helped you? Who was part of your ‘team effort’?”  
  
“Maya,” she said, knowing she had to offer something. “A girl from Mount Weather, she helped my people when they were inside and they helped me when I went in too.”  
  
“Your inside man?” Elody asked.  
  
“Yes,” Clarke replied, relieved that it looked like she was going to accept that answer. “She and her father were against the harvest… they wanted to help us.”  
  
“Tell me about the harvest,” the queen said. “I know that the mountains require our blood to survive. But why were they so intent on harvesting _your_ people in particular?”  
  
Again, she’d said _mountains,_ not mountain, but Clarke knew she couldn’t ask. She took a deep breath and started to answer, but then she balked- she realised that if there was even the smallest chance that there were more Mountain Men out there, she couldn’t possibly tell Elody how important their bone marrow was. She just had no way of knowing what she would do with that information.  
  
Finally she said, “I don’t know.”  
  
“Alek,” the queen said sharply. Clarke looked at her and her entire face had change; she looked enraged. “She is lying to my face.”  
  
For the first time, Alek selected a dart that was a colour other than yellow. This time, the dart he inserted into her hand was purple. Clarke had thought she’d understood pain before, but the yellow darts were like a tender kiss compared to the purple. She gasped as the pain radiated through not only her hand but also her arm, and then gradually spread over her entire body. It was as though whatever solution the dart had been dipped in was ten times more potent than the one used on the yellow darts.  
  
Clarke tried desperately to get her hand out of Alek’s grip, but she couldn’t budge. Her forehead broke out into a sweat, she felt her other hand shaking, and her knees felt weak. She felt herself collapsing, but she only realised that she’d passed out from the pain once she came to again, lying on the floor of the dining chamber. Alek hauled her to her feet and placed her back in her chair, and only then did she see the pool of vomit on the floor next to where she’d been laying. She watched Alek mop it up.  
  
Elody pushed a bowl of scented water toward her and handed her a cloth. Clarke dipped the cloth into the bowl and wiped the vomit from her cheek, feeling the burn of it in the back of her throat. Next Clarke was handed a cup of water, cool and fresh and just a little sweet. She drained the whole thing, trying to wash out the bitter taste in her mouth. At least the pain was blissfully gone, and the dart was no longer between her fingers. Now it was fear that made her hands shake.  
  
“The yellow darts cause mild pain,” the queen said calmly. “The purple are medium. Red is severe. The green darts will keep you from passing out. Are you sure you wish to keep lying to me?”  
  
It took all of Clarke’s strength not to panic, not to scream. Knowing that there was a step above what she’d just experienced, and not only that but also that there was a way they could prevent her body’s biological protection of unconsciousness- it terrified her. She didn’t even want to imagine what the black and blue darts might do.  
  
“Clarke,” Elody said, and something in her voice was surprising, made Clarke look up into the woman’s dark eyes. It was gentleness maybe, perhaps even empathy. “It’s just you and me in this room. There’s nothing wrong with telling me the truth, in saving yourself from pain and suffering. There’s no shame in it.”  
  
It was eerie, the kindness with which Elody spoke to her now, while at the same time she was the one responsible for the pain and suffering they were discussing. Clarke couldn’t bring herself to speak, to admit out loud that she would now answer anything she wanted, but she knew it was true. They both did.  
  
“Alek,” Elody said quietly. “Take Clarke back to her room. The two of us will speak again at breakfast. I believe tomorrow will be a better day.”  
  
Only once she was back in the safety of the four walls of her cell, on her straw mattress, wrapped up in the darkness, all alone, did Clarke allow herself to break down and sob.


	13. 13- Bellamy

He woke to the feeling of the sun on his face, and when he opened his eyes he could feel the heat of it, see it shining right over the camp. He knew from Earth Skills and his own experience on the ground what the sun’s position meant- it was the middle of the day. But beyond that he felt disoriented, confused, and unable to figure out what was happening. He looked around for Octavia but couldn’t see her. Belatedly he remembered she had left with Lincoln, but he couldn’t remember when.  
  
The campsite was quiet and deserted, the fire burning low, as though it hadn’t been tended in some time. Bellamy managed to sit up, his body feeling stiff and weak. His leg was half painful, half heavy and numb, and he could hardly stand to look at it. The reddish blue lump on his calf had expanded, and the skin seemed to be starting to pull away from it, crusting and blistering around the centre, which was now black, as though his flesh was dying off. He swallowed, glancing away from it, and he found himself wishing Clarke were there to tell him what it meant.  
  
He had managed to roll over onto his knees and was halfway to his feet when Echo appeared at the edge of the clearing. She said one of the Trigedasleng curse words he had learned, dropping the basket she was holding to the ground and hurrying over to him. She forced him back down on the ground, pulling his injured leg up and setting his foot firmly on a rock.  
  
“You must keep it elevated,” she chided him. “You must not move.”  
  
“I was looking for you,” he protested, feeling sheepish under her dark glare. “I thought maybe something happened to you.”  
  
Echo let out a huff of air. “You must take care of yourself, not worry about those who are stronger than you. Don’t be stupid.”  
  
Bellamy smiled a little in spite of the dire situation. “I’m thirsty.”  
  
“And that is why I have brought you food and water,” she said, grabbing the fur and spreading it over him with clear annoyance. She felt his forehead with the back of her head, nodded, and then returned to the basket. She stoked the fire back up and pulled out a small clay pot of water, which she brought back, holding the rim of it to his lips. He drank deeply, draining more than half the pot before she finally set it down beside him.  
  
She returned to the fire and he watched her pull two pheasants from the basket. With quick and efficient movements she plucked their feathers, setting them carefully aside. Then she took her knife, slit the birds’ stomachs open, removed the entrails, and cut off their heads and legs.  
  
“Can I help with anything?” Bellamy called over.  
  
“Clearly you cannot,” she answered him, bringing another smile to his lips.  
  
The fire was hot now, and Echo carefully wrapped the birds in clean leaves before placing them on top of the fire and covering them with more rocks. She looked up, seeing him watching. “Rest,” she said, her voice almost tender. “Sleep will help. When our meal is ready, I will wake you.”  
  
Bellamy started to protest, to insist that he wasn’t tired, but suddenly his eyelids felt heavy and he found himself drifting off, and he was asleep before he could say another word to Echo.  
  
  
  
_He was running. It was hard to tell time or place- it was a forest but not the one he knew, not the trees around the dropship that he had come to see as home. The foliage reached far over his head, blocking out the sun, and the whole place was hazy, damp with fog that clung to his skin and chilled him to the bone._  
  
_He didn’t know why he was running, he just was, and it felt so urgent- as though there was somewhere he needed to be, and he needed to get there as quickly as possible. His heart was pounding in his chest._  
  
_Bellamy caught his foot on a root suddenly and pitched forward, barely able to get his hands up in time to save his face from impacting with the hard, frozen ground. He felt his knees and the heels of his hands stinging with the force of his fall, and for a moment he just stayed there, on all fours, breathing hard._  
  
_It was the prickling sensation on the back of his neck that told him he was not alone, that someone was watching. Rising slowly back to his feet, at first he saw nothing, but then something compelled him to walk toward the fog that was rising in vapours to obscure either side of the path. The trees loomed out of this curtain of mist like huge, silent ghosts._  
  
_Only as he crept closer to the fog did he start to see shapes behind the haze and he started to make out people, standing silent and facing him, watching him._  
  
_“Who are you?” he called out, swallowing a little, his eyes darting around. There seemed to be men, women, and children, all standing and staring at him. The mood was one of foreboding, and he felt judged by them, though none of them spoke._  
  
_“What do you want?” he tried._  
  
_Finally one of the figures broke from the group and stepped out from the fog and stood in front of Bellamy. It was a little girl, seven or eight years old, and he noticed she was wearing an old dress of Octavia’s, long outgrown and reprocessed._  
  
_“Are you okay?” he asked her. “Are you lost?”_  
  
_“I’m dead,” she answered, and her arm shot straight out to point right at him. Her green eyes filled with tears. “You killed me.”_  
  
_Horrified, he backed away from her accusing stare, shaking his head. “No.”_  
  
_“Yes,” she said, advancing on him- each step he took backward, she took a step forward, until his back met the hard trunk of a tree, and then she advanced on him, coming right up to him. Her little face barely reached his chest as she looked up at him, the tears spilling down her cheeks. “You_ killed _me. Why?”_  
  
_As he watched in horror, the tears washed away the flawless veneer of her skin and revealed angry red boils all over her- those burns that he knew had been caused by radiation, her skin flaked off and burned away, the yellow muscle visible underneath. She started screaming, and as he watched she leaned forward and vomited thick black blood all over the ground._  
  
_“Help!” he yelled, panicking, reaching out to grab her, help her, but realising that anywhere he might have touched was painful, raw and swollen with those horrible burns. He looked up in panic at the other figures in the fog, still and silent. “Please help her!”_  
  
_The little girl’s head suddenly snapped up and her eyes were less sad and more angry, flashing with what could only be described as rage, unsettling on a child so young. “Why would they help you?” she snapped. “You killed them too.”_  
  
_He looked up and saw the other people slowly emerging from the fog, slowly and methodically advancing on him from all directions. Some of them were burned and bloodied like the little girl, while others looked healthy and well, not a mark on them, but he knew that they too were dead._  
  
_“No, I didn’t… the radio… please, I didn’t know!” he yelled. He couldn’t help but feel betrayed, like he’d had a deal with these people not to hold this against him and they weren’t keeping up their end._  
  
_“You didn’t know, you didn’t know,” the little girl said, her voice high, mocking him. “But what about_ me _and_ my _people? You knew then. You knew exactly then.”_  
  
_Bellamy squeezed his eyes closed and when he opened them again he was back in the Mount Weather control room, looking at those monitors, everyone still alive. He saw Clarke and he was looking at her with urgency in his eyes as he said, “We need to think about this. There are kids in here!”_  
  
_“I tried to stop it,” Bellamy whispered now, sinking down into the dirt with a heavy look of defeat. “I tried to stop it.”_  
  
_“And yet it still happened,” the girl said._ “Your _hand was on that lever.”_  
  
_“Bellamy Blake,” one of the victims of the culling spat at him. “You’re a mass murderer!”_  
  
_He shook his head slowly from side to side, opening his mouth to deny it again, but he knew he couldn’t- it was true- he was responsible for the deaths of hundreds. When he looked at his hands, all he saw was blood, and it was too thick to wipe off even as he rubbed his hands frantically together._  
  
_“Bellamy, we have to save them!” Clarke cried out to him. He hurried over to her, saw her hand on the lever, reached out with his own to cover hers._  
  
_“Wait, no… this is wrong,” he said, shaking his head, pulling his hand back._  
  
_“Bellamy!” Clarke yelled, and she grabbed the lever, pulling with all her force, but somehow she couldn’t get it to move, even though he remembered it being so easy to flip that switch._  
  
_“Don’t kill me,” the little girl sobbed, appearing at Bellamy’s elbow. Her skin was clear again, she looked alive. She grabbed the sleeve of his shirt in her hands and tugged. “Please don’t kill me, Bellamy… not again.”_  
  
_“I won’t,” he said to her, turning and grabbing her around the shoulders so he could look into her eyes. “I promise.”_  
  
_Clarke was still trying, desperately, to pull that lever, but this time when Bellamy reached out he didn’t help her, instead grasping her arm and gently removing her hand from it. “We can’t do this, Clarke,” he said softly. “It’s wrong.”_  
  
_Her eyes flew to the monitors as she watched her mother being drilled but she seemed to believe him, agree with him maybe, as she just shook her head._  
  
_A commotion on one of the other monitors suddenly grabbed Bellamy’s eye and he turned just in time to see Cage put a handgun to Maya’s head and fire. Her body collapsed forward, a pool of dark blood oozing out on to the carpet beneath her._  
  
_Time seemed to freeze as Cage’s gun swivelled and pressed against Octavia’s head._  
  
_“No!” Bellamy yelled, letting go of the child in his arms and springing forward. He seized the lever in his hand and pulled it with all his strength, easily putting it into the second position._  
  
_It took only a few seconds for the scrubbers to reverse and the irradiated air to kick in, but it was more than enough time for Cage to pull the trigger a second time. Bellamy watched the monitor as his sister’s head exploded forward, the spray of her blood and brain matter looking like a puff of red smoke on the monitor. Her body crumpled forward, still half on her knees, and only when she was still did the others start to cough and moan, slowly collapsing as the red burns bloomed on their skin._  
  
_The child next to him was similarly collapsing in pain, screaming, but Bellamy didn’t even hear her. He just stared at the monitor, his pounding heartbeat so loud that he could hear nothing else, and the edges of his vision were going dark. His knees went weak and he felt himself stumbling, so he grabbed the console for support. Clarke’s face hovered in front of him, her eyes filled with tears; her arms were wrapping around him as she started to speak, but he couldn’t hear her._  
  
_Abruptly he jerked out of Clarke’s grasp and whirled towards the door. His run down those hallways seemed to last forever before he finally careened into the dining room. He barely acknowledged the bodies that surrounded him as he just ran towards the sound of Jasper’s soft sobs, collapsing down onto his knees as he reached Octavia beside him._  
  
_He pulled her into his arms, desperately brushing the hair from her lifeless face, and a clump of her scalp, still attached to a fragment of her skull, slipped through his fingers and landed on the floor as he did so. He felt the vomit rising in his throat but somehow he managed to choke it down as he stared into her lifeless blue eyes, frozen in shock._  
  
_“O!” he yelled, shaking her violently, as though he could snap her out of it, wake her up. Her blood coursed from the wound and soaked his chest and stomach where he was holding her head. When it became impossible to convince himself that she was still alive, Bellamy let out such a cry of anguish that he didn’t even recognise his own voice as he pulled her into him, cradling her body against his. He just rocked her back and forth, hardly able to see from the force of his tears as his breath came out in choking gasps and the tears ran down his face, mixing with her blood._  
  
_Seconds or hours later, he didn’t know which, Clarke was there, kneeling in front of him, trying to pry Octavia from his arms. Bellamy gripped his sister tighter, yelling at Clarke, screaming at the top of his lungs for her to leave them alone. She kept trying though, and eventually he couldn’t fight anymore and he let her take Octavia away, knowing it would be the last time he would ever hold her. He watched as Clarke laid her body out on the floor and rolled the carpet over her, knowing she was doing that so he wouldn’t have to look at her anymore._  
  
_But he knew there was only way that he was ever going to forget that image, forget that he had failed in something so integral to who he was- to protect Octavia, to keep her safe, no matter what. Without speaking or even thinking, he picked up the gun that Cage had used to kill his sister, put it to his own head, and fired._  
  
  
  
Bellamy woke up screaming, bolting upright and scrambling backward, not even feeling the pain that lanced through his leg as he did so, just wanting to escape that horrific image of Octavia dead, of the knowledge that he had killed her, failed her so horrendously.  
  
Echo appeared at his side and she looked as concerned as he had ever seen her. Only when she clapped a hand over his mouth did he realise he was still screaming, but despite that realisation and her hand over his lips, it still took him a while to calm down enough to be silent. When she pulled back from him, he turned his head to the side and vomited until all he had left was stomach acid and sore ribs. He forced his eyes to stay open because the second he closed them all he saw was Octavia’s broken skull, the blood, her lifeless eyes, and all he could feel was how profoundly he had failed her. It had felt so real, that sense of having gotten her killed, and it just made the bile rise in his throat once again.  
  
“Drink now,” Echo ordered, holding the back of his head and lifting the clay pot to his lips. He gulped down the liquid and when he finished she set it down and examined his leg carefully. “You’ve made it worse,” she rebuked him, then put her hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up. I will get you more medicine, and something to calm your dreams.”  
  
As she moved away Bellamy pulled in deep breaths, his eyes wide open, staring at the ground. He wanted Octavia, needed to see her right now, make sure she was alive and whole, but he knew that was impossible.  
  
When he could speak again he asked Echo urgently, “How long has it been? How long until they’re back?”  
  
“It has been several hours,” she replied. “And it will be several more.”  
  
He frowned at the inexactitude of that statement, but he tried not to let it get to him. Echo returned with a bowl of water and a cloth. She dipped the cloth into it and wiped him down, starting at the top of his head and moving over his face, his neck, and his bare chest. The cool water was incredibly soothing, and he started to feel a little more human. He wasn’t sure how much sweat was from the dream and how much from the fever.  
  
Echo had also brought bowls of the pheasant soup, as well as that same fever reducing concoction she’d been feeding him throughout the day. He drank both down hungrily, and eased himself back onto the ground, letting her elevate his leg once again as she tightened the rope around his leg, which had come loose in his panic.  
  
“You must sleep,” she said to him.  
  
“I can’t,” he said immediately, shaking his head, just the thought of falling into another nightmare like that terrifying him. “I can’t sleep.”  
  
“Yet you must,” she said, standing up and returning to the fire. He watched as she pulled out a single hot coal and placed it in a mortar, then ground up a few plant ingredients with a pestle. She tied some grasses around the bundle of pheasant feathers and returned to Bellamy’s side with the concoction, which was steaming and crackling softly, creating a sweet-smelling vapour.  
  
“Inhale this,” she told him, using the feathers to wave the smoky tendrils towards his face.  
  
Bellamy balked for a moment, shaking his head. “No, I’m good.”  
  
Echo frowned at him. “You are not ‘good,’” she said. “You need all the treatment you can get, and you must sleep if you are to heal. This will ease your dreams.”  
  
“What is it?” he asked apprehensively, looking into the smouldering mixture.  
  
“Medicine,” she said firmly, waving the feathers again. “Now breathe before it’s wasted to the wind.”  
  
He inhaled deeply and tears immediately sprung to his eyes as he coughed and sputtered. Echo seemed satisfied, nodding and saying, “The medicine is good.”  
  
“Good?” he managed, once he could speak again.  
  
“Now the rest,” she said, fanning him with the feathers once again.  
  
With great trepidation he obeyed, and only when he had breathed in all the vapours and the potion was fully cool did Echo set aside the mortar. She fixed him with an intense look, as though she was waiting for something to happen.  
  
“What?” he asked nervously. “Is it supposed to cure me immediately?”  
  
“You will start to feel tired,” she answered, and sure enough as soon as she spoke those words his eyelids grew heavy. He still felt the fear of not wanting to sleep, but it was like a great force was pulling him downward into unconsciousness. It was unsettling, and felt very much like he imagined drowning would feel. He tried to protest, tried to tell her he didn’t like this, but before he could his eyes had closed and he was, once again, asleep.  
  
  
  
_This time he was on the Ark, in his quarters, sitting on one of the chairs at his family’s small table. He still felt that residual fear, and he was fully aware that he was dreaming, which was strange. Only the fact that the table was covered in his mother’s sewing paraphernalia made him relax a little, knowing that this was before everything went wrong- before Octavia was taken, before their mother was dead, before he was expelled from the guard and forced to spend that lonely year alone._  
  
_“O?” he asked cautiously, looking around frantically and realising she wasn’t there._  
  
_“Are they gone?” Her voice was coming from the floor, and belatedly he understood there had just been an inspection. He went to the loose panel and pulled it up, reaching down a hand to pull Octavia to her feet. She had a good amount of room still in her hiding place, and so he knew this had to be years before she’d been taken from him- she looked about ten, eleven maybe._  
  
_“All done,” he said, smiling at her. When she was on her feet he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, his hand automatically stroking over her hair and feeling her head- intact._  
  
_“Are you okay?” she asked him as she wriggled from his grasp, giving him a slightly amused, slightly perplexed look._  
  
_He smiled softly at her. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Yeah, I’m good.”_  
  
_She yawned. “I’m tired, Bell. I can never sleep in the hole… I’m going to have a nap.”_  
  
_“Okay.” He really didn’t care what she did, he was just content knowing she was alive, so he watched her climb the ladder on the wall and slide into his bunk, wrapping herself up in his blankets._  
  
_While she slept he pored over the Guard Cadet Study Guide that his mother had gotten for him months ago. He knew that becoming a guard was the key to creating a safe future for himself and for Octavia._  
  
_Octavia was fast asleep by the time Aurora came home. She sat down with her son, giving him a tired smile. “How was your day?”_  
  
_“Fine,” he answered, keeping his voice low for Octavia’s sake, though she was good at sleeping through anything. “The inspection was no problem.” He had forgotten that he was dreaming._  
  
_“Is your sister safe?” she asked him, which was strange._  
  
_“Yeah… of course,” he said, looking at her with confusion._  
  
_“Now you know why you had to do the things you did,” she said to him._  
  
_He felt his heart quicken. “What?”_  
  
_His mother’s dark eyes bored into his. “She needs you, Bellamy. Even now.”_  
  
_“Now?” he repeated. He felt like they were each having a totally different conversation. “Why now?”_  
  
_“She may be a warrior, but she’s still your little sister,” she said. “You have to do what you have to do to protect her. It doesn’t matter what it costs.”_  
  
_He set down his tablet and looked at the table, and in his mind he was seeing all the bodies all over again- the people from the culling, the irradiated citizens of Mount Weather, including children and people who’d helped him._  
  
_“Do you remember what I said to you the day she was born?” Aurora pressed. “Do you remember what you told her?”_  
  
_“Of course,” he said, closing his eyes briefly before looking back to her._  
  
_She still had that intense expression on her face. “Say it.”_  
  
_“’Your sister, your responsibility,’” he said immediately, used to this familiar pattern of conversation between them. As he grew up, they had rehashed it many times._  
  
_“And what you said to her?” she prompted._  
  
_“That I’d never let anything bad happen to her.”_  
  
_“So you know in your heart what’s right, Bellamy Blake,” his mother said. “All those people_ had _to die. There was no other option- not for her, not for you.”_  
  
_“But how many bodies is too many?” he asked softly. His eyes flickered to his sister’s sleeping form in the bunk above their heads. “When is it too much?”_  
  
_Aurora seized his arm with her hand and her voice was savage when she said,_ “Never. _It’s_ never _too much. Not if it means saving her life.”_  
  
_“But-”_  
  
_“Listen to me, Bellamy,” she interrupted, her eyes holding that same intensity he knew so well. “Shooting Jaha was justified- if only because he was a tyrant. If only because he killed me, locked your sister up, showed our family no mercy. But_ especially _because it got you to the ground, so you could look after her. Do you think she would have survived without you there? Would any of them?”_  
  
_He swallowed, nodded. He had long since forgiven himself for Jaha, accepted Clarke’s words telling him that they all needed him… but there was clearly still hesitation in his eyes and his mother knew him too well to miss it._  
  
_“You didn’t know about the radio,” she said, her voice gentle for the first time. “It was Jaha that chose to cull them. Just like he decided to send your sister down to Earth, where she would most likely die. Those deaths are on_ his _hands._ Not _yours.”_  
  
_“But what about Mount Weather?” he whispered, his eyes dropping to the floor, the image going wobbly as his eyes filled with tears. “All those people… the kids…”_  
  
_“Oh, my brave boy,” Aurora said fondly, gently, curling her fingers around his cheek and raising his face to look at her. “You know the answer to that. You just watched what would have happened if you hadn’t pulled that lever.”_  
  
_He closed his eyes, swallowed, seeing again that horrific image of Octavia dead._  
  
_“Look at me,” his mother ordered. He did. “What you did was right. Those people would have hunted you and your friends- your_ sister- _down like animals. You had to do it. You had to save her, Bellamy, you know that. What you did was exactly what needed doing- it was the right thing. It saved Octavia.”_  
  
_Again, he looked to Octavia, watched the rise and fall of her back, listened to her breathing- listened the sounds of her living. He looked back to his mother, who was smiling softly at him. “I fulfilled my life’s purpose,” she said gently. “I gave you both life and I bonded you to one another so that when I died I would know you would take care of each other… and that your little sister would always be safe.”_  
  
_She cupped her son’s face in her hands and he met her eyes, both of them close to tears in that moment. “I am_ so _proud of you… never doubt that, Bellamy. I know you’ve laid awake thinking that I would be disappointed in who you are, in the things you’ve done, but listen to me now, because this is the truth: I could never be more proud of you. I’m proud of the good,_ good _man you’ve become.”_  
  
  
  
Bellamy’s eyes opened slowly and he saw Echo sitting next to him, gazing down at him. He couldn’t help but smile at her. The sky was growing dark.  
  
“The medicine is good,” she said, returning his smile. “You should listen to me.”  
  
“Yeah,” he said, his own widening into a grin, nodding his head and letting out a long breath of relief, his chest feeling light and unburdened for the first time in what felt like forever. “The medicine is definitely good.”  
  
Echo nodded her head with satisfaction, and together they watched the sun dip lower and lower on the horizon, a comfortable silence passing between them.


	14. 14- Clarke

Elody waited four days before she called for her again, and by then Clarke was ravenous, dehydrated, and weak.  
  
“Shall we talk?” the queen asked her, motioning for Alek to set food and water in front of her. She waited patiently while Clarke drained her cup and started eating with abandon. “Slow down,” she said in that strange, gentle tone again. “You will make yourself sick.”  
  
“I’m starving,” Clarke answered, but she took a moment to rest and let her stomach settle, feeling it rebel against the sudden influx of food and water.  
  
The queen’s dark eyes were unreadable as she gazed at Clarke. It seemed like the woman rarely blinked, though she knew that wasn’t really true- her stare was just so severe that it appeared that way. In spite of her resolve to stay calm, Clarke felt herself almost squirming, her face turning red.  
  
“We can talk,” she said, finally. Even that made her ashamed, but now that she knew the true horror of what was hiding in Alek’s leather roll, she felt she had no choice. She would try to minimise the damage to those she loved.  
  
She couldn’t help but think of Murphy- fingernails torn off, face bloody and beaten, cowering in fear. He had lasted three days. She had been with Elody now for what she guessed was close to three weeks, but she couldn’t be sure, since time was hard to track. She took comfort in the fact that she had lasted much longer than Murphy, and the Ice Nation seemed much more proficient at causing pain than even Murphy’s captors had been. While they had been brutal and cruel, the people here had turned torment into an art.  
  
Meeting the queen’s eyes she said, soft, defeated, “What do you want to know?”  
  
She half expected Elody to gloat, but she didn’t. She just nodded her head and said, “Finish your meal. We will talk after.”  
  
It was an uncomfortable breakfast, though the food and drink were both delicious. The queen’s people seemed to be as good at cooking as they were at torture, and the food was always amazing- better even than what she’d eaten inside Mount Weather. Elody did not try to make conversation with her, and Clarke had no idea what to say, so they passed the meal in silence. The plates were cleared away by the queen’s attendants, and then they were left alone- even Alek was gone. Despite knowing that he could be called back at any moment if necessary, Clarke was immensely relieved that he’d left the room.  
  
“If you cooperate with me, I will give you a proper chamber,” Elody said, with that same unsettling gentleness. “You will be fed regularly, and have unlimited access to water. I only ask that you accommodate my questions.”  
  
She made it sound so simple, the way she said it, but Clarke knew that was because she’d been broken- deprived of food, drink, time, and comfort, she knew that she had buckled under the pressure. All she could do was nod mutely. She couldn’t help but wonder if this same thing had happened to Costia, if in the end she had talked. Selfishly, she hoped so.  
  
“Where shall we begin?” Elody asked, almost conversationally, as though she had no idea how demoralising and humiliating this was.  
  
“Wherever you want,” Clarke said, flatly.  
  
“Let’s begin with Lexa,” the queen said, pretending not to notice that her guest was not playing along. “Were you her lover?”  
  
“No,” Clarke answered, shaking her head. “Maybe if we’d known each other longer.”  
  
“So there _was_ something between you.”  
  
“Yes,” Clarke answered. She felt exposed, stripped naked, all her secrets bare for the queen to look at as she pleased. She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself to stop from feeling so unprotected.  
  
She asked more questions about Maya and their other allies inside Mount Weather, asked about the harvest chamber- exactly how it was laid out, how many it could hold, how the people were taken, whether the procedures killed them or not, how often the Mountain Men required blood, whether or not it ever failed. Some of these things Clarke could answer and some she couldn’t, but Elody seemed to know the difference between this and a lie, and she never accused Clarke of being dishonest if she said she didn’t know.  
  
“So you killed all those people, in order to save your own?” she clarified.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Even though there were only fifty of yours, and over three hundred of theirs? Do you feel that was justified?”  
  
Clarke couldn’t figure out whose side Elody was on, or even if she _was_ on anyone’s side. Hesitantly she said, “It wasn’t just about my people. If we hadn’t irradiated the facility, they would have come after us and they would have kept taking more of Lexa’s people. They would have died without the blood.”  
  
“How did Maya feel about that?”  
  
Again, she hesitated. “I don’t know.”  
  
Elody’s black eyes narrowed. “You are lying to me again.”  
  
“No, I’m not,” Clarke said hurriedly, feeling sick to her stomach. “She wasn’t there when we irradiated.”  
  
“I believe you,” the queen said. “But that means you are lying to me about who helped you inside the mountain. You said _we_ irradiated. Who was in that control room with you if not Maya? Who was your inside man, really?”  
  
Clarke panicked, trying to see a way out of that, a way to protect her friends while not being caught in a lie. “I…” She trailed off, swallowed, her nausea only increasing.  
  
“Shall I call Alek back?” the queen asked, sounding disappointed.  
  
“No,” Clarke said quickly. “No… I just have to think.”  
  
“Think of the truth,” Elody warned. _“Not_ a lie. I will know.”  
  
Clarke believed her. She let out a long, shaky breath. “There was someone else with me in the control room,” she whispered.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Bellamy.” Her voice was so soft that the queen had to lean forward to hear her. She had thought she’d been so careful, so clever, to hold him back, yet in that moment she knew that she had been fooling herself. “He’s a friend.”  
  
“A Sky Person?”  
  
“Yes, a Sky Person,” she snapped, and then closed her eyes briefly. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Take a breath, gather yourself,” Elody answered. “I understand this is difficult.”  
  
Clarke just stared at her. She couldn’t figure this woman out at all, which made her feel even more anxious, because she couldn’t predict her next move. Finally she said, “He was my inside man. I sent him in before I went in myself. He was supposed to shut off the acid fog, sneak the captives out the back door while me and Lexa and our army distracted them.” Even as she said it aloud, the pain was obvious in her voice- they’d had such hopes for a resolution that minimised the bloodshed. If only it had been that simple.  
  
“Interesting,” Elody said, and she did look genuinely intrigued. “So your original intention was not to irradiate the mountain?”  
  
“No,” Clarke said, shaking her head. “No, everyone was supposed to survive… well, almost everyone. There were innocent people in there.”  
  
_“Innocent,”_ Elody spat, her first true sign of emotion. “Innocent people do not enslave an entire race only to prolong their own lives.”  
  
Clarke wanted to yell at her, point out the absolute insanity of that statement when here she was, basically enslaved just because the queen had questions for her. How was that any better? But she held her tongue, somehow, and just said, “Their children were innocent.”  
  
“Perhaps,” Elody allowed. “So how was it that your noble plan transformed into mass murder?”  
  
The bluntness with which she described the irradiation as mass murder, though technically correct, made Clarke cringe. “Lexa betrayed us,” she said softly.  
  
“You will have to be much more descriptive.”  
  
So Clarke launched into an explanation of what had happened, outlining Bellamy’s final days inside Mount Weather, the ambush at the doors, the happiness she’d felt when the door finally opened, and then the shock and disbelief that had overwhelmed her as she realised Lexa had made a deal to free her own people at the expense of Clarke’s.  
  
“Why would Mount Weather agree to that?” Elody interrupted her.  
  
“What?” Clarke asked, surprised at the question.  
  
“You are finite in number,” the queen explained. “The Tree Clan is prolific. Why would they see the gain of fifty or a hundred, or even two hundred, as better than the unlimited supply of people from the forest? Not to mention the other clans?”  
  
They were back to this- the marrow. The secret Clarke did not want to give up… she didn’t even know why, but something in her gut told her it was dangerous knowledge for the queen to possess.  
  
“I don’t know,” she said, hoping she sounded confident, truthful. One look at Elody’s face told her that she had failed. It was like a knife in her heart as she said softly, her voice defeated, “Our blood is better than yours… they wanted us because we could cure them- permanently.”  
  
“How?” Elody demanded, and Clarke could tell by the look of satisfaction on the queen’s face that she knew this was her most closely guarded secret.  
  
“Bone marrow,” Clarke whispered.  
  
“What is that?” the queen asked, narrowing her eyes in confusion.  
  
“It’s in the middle of all our bones,” she answered, struggling to explain it in simple terms. “It’s a honeycomb, spongy sort of stuff… it’s what produces all the blood for our bodies.”  
  
Elody was smart enough to understand the meaning of that and she said, “So if they have your bone marrow, they can make blood like yours.”  
  
“That’s right,” Clarke said, nodding. “There’s something called a bone marrow transplant… you take the marrow from one person and inject it into another. The cells take root in the recipient’s bones and start producing blood.”  
  
“But why _your_ blood?” the queen pressed. “Why are you so special?”  
  
“It’s because we were born and raised in space,” Clarke explained. “There’s radiation up there… more than there is even on Earth. The Gr- uh, the clans… their people can process the radiation far better than the Mountain Men because they’ve lived on the ground, and the only people who’ve survived to pass on their genes were ones who could filter out the radiation.”  
  
“Which you can do even better,” Elody finished her thought, nodding her head. “I see. Now I understand the reason that Lexa made the deal that she did.”  
  
“So does that mean you forgive her?” Clarke asked, feeling positive for the first time in days. If Elody forgave Lexa, maybe she would let her go.  
  
“No,” the queen said, dashing her hopes immediately. “But the reasons are clearer now.”  
  
“The Ice Nation is so far away,” Clarke said carefully. “Lexa’s decision happened so quickly… there was no-”  
  
“Do not try to defend her,” Elody interrupted. “Or would you defend her for tonDC as well?”  
  
Clarke felt the colour drain from her face. “You know about tonDC?” When Elody said nothing she swallowed and said quietly, “We made that decision together.”  
  
“What decision is that?”  
  
“To… to let the bomb drop,” Clarke said, uncertainly.  
  
“Oh really?” Elody asked, her jaw clenched in anger. “So it was _your_ decision and _Lexa’s_ decision to _allow_ my second to be killed in tonDC?”  
  
“You didn’t know,” Clarke said, realisation dawning on her like a punch in the stomach. “That’s not what you meant at all, is it?”  
  
“Alek!” the queen yelled.  
  
“No,” Clarke whispered, then louder, “No, please! Please don’t do this! I’m sorry.” She was panicking now, knowing what was coming- or rather, _not_ knowing, which was much worse.  
  
Alek burst into the chamber and he saw the anger on Elody’s face. Brusquely he unrolled his leather case and the queen pointed at one of the red darts. Without a word, he removed it from the case and pulled out the glass vial to dip it in.  
  
Clarke remembered that red meant severe pain- worse than any suffering she’d felt yet. She launched herself off her chair and thought about running, but she knew there was no use. Instead she collapsed to her knees in front of the queen and actually begged her, “Please don’t do this. Please… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for tonDC, for your people… I’m sorry for everything, please, please don’t do this.” She felt tears building in her eyes but she refused to let them fall- she was so raw and broken, but she wanted to keep that one thing- her tears- for herself.  
  
Alek knelt down and roughly grabbed Clarke’s arm, flattening her hand against the floor. He lined the red dart up with the space between her third and fourth fingers. Clarke tried desperately to squirm away, to pull her hand back, anything, but the man was so strong and she was so weak from hunger and fear.  
  
But then, as if it was a miracle, Elody put her hand and said, “Stop. Leave us.”  
  
Alek released Clarke, stood up, bowed to his queen, and left the room as quickly as he had come. When Clarke raised her face, Elody’s hand was outstretched toward her. She took it, let the queen help her to her feet. She actually wanted to hug her, such was the extent of her gratitude, but instead she just stood there, heart pounding, shaking like a leaf. Her teeth were chattering.  
  
Elody called one of her female attendants, a woman Clarke had never seen before, and spoke to her in Trigedasleng, and this new woman smiled kindly at her and led her from the room. Only when they had been walking for several minutes did Clarke realise they weren’t going down into the basement, to the dungeon where she had her cell.  
  
Instead she was taken to a much nicer room, with slats high in the wall to let in light, paneled with panes of glass with strange patterns on them that Clarke belatedly realised was frost. But despite the chill outside, the fire crackling in the hearth had warmed this room. Someone had brought in a large tub and filled it with hot, scented water. There were clean clothes laid out on the bed.  
  
“You may bathe,” the woman said in heavily accented English. “And you may sleep. The queen will call for you again tomorrow.”  
  
Somehow, mechanically, still in shock, Clarke managed to say, “Thank you.”  
  
The woman nodded, left, and she heard the soft thud of a bolt sliding into place. Clarke took off her clothes and slid into the hot water, hugging her knees to her chest as she let herself turn red and shrivelled.  
  
The more she sat there, the angrier and more desperate she felt. “I have to get out of here,” she whispered to herself, over and over, her determination growing with each passing moment. “I have to go home.”


	15. 15- Octavia

Right away when she spotted the figures at the top of the mountain, Octavia had nudged Lincoln and directed his attention to the figures that seemed to be waiting for them at the top of the mountain. He hadn’t stopped the horse, but he had paused and said, “We could go around? Skirt the mountain… but it would add a few hours to our journey.”  
  
“No,” she said immediately. “No, Bellamy doesn’t have time for that.”  
  
“Hold on tight,” he said apprehensively as he urged the horse to continue up the mountain. Octavia did as he said, clenching her arms around his waist. What was creepiest about the figures was that they didn’t move, as if they were waiting for them. There were four, all on foot, but they were silhouetted from behind so she couldn’t make out any other details. She didn’t see any weapons but she knew that didn’t mean anything.  
  
When they finally crested the hill, one of the figures hurried to them, yelling out, “Stop!” Now Octavia could see that he had a weapon, a sword, and that the three others behind him all had bows held at the ready.  
  
Lincoln slowed the horse a good distance from the man who’d spoken. “We are just travellers, passing through,” he called out cautiously in Trigedasleng. The man took a step toward them and Lincoln drew his sword, pointing it in the stranger’s direction. The other three men all set arrows to their bowstrings and readied them to fire. “What is it that you want?” Lincoln asked the leader.  
  
He was a stocky man with strong arms and a large scar across much of the left side of his face, even cutting through his beard so that it grew unevenly across that part of his jaw. He fixed them with an unfriendly stare, one that made Octavia nervous. Her eyes flickered warily between him and the archers.  
  
Finally the man spoke. “I was told by the villagers that you have something that I seek. Hand over what I want, and you will not be harmed. Refuse, and you will be shot through with so many arrows that this mountain will be your grave.”  
  
The words were shocking and Octavia was scared, but she knew to let Lincoln do the talking, not wanting to complicate things further with her foreign accent.  
  
Carefully Lincoln said, “We have made fair trade with the wise woman of this village. The medicine that we carry will save a life that is in dire need. If you are also in need of it, the woman has more. Seek out Lala, in the village square.”  
  
Octavia held her breath, waiting to see what the men would do. She knew that, if these men did not take no for an answer, they could go back to the village and get another dose, but they might have to relinquish the other horse, and then it would take them days to reach Bellamy. Her heart was pounding in her chest.  
  
“I am not after your leechdom, _trikruhef.”_  
  
“Then what do you want?” Lincoln asked apprehensively.  
  
When the man’s eyes riveted to her, Octavia felt herself shrinking back a little, pressing herself more into Lincoln’s back. The stranger smirked and said, “I want your woman.”  
  
“Back away,” Lincoln growled, pointing his sword at the man’s nose. “Leave now, and you may keep your life. Touch her, and you’ll die where you stand.”  
  
“Not for _that,”_ the stranger said with a roll of his eyes. “She’s a Sky Person. There are bounties on Sky People… the mountain will pay highly for her.”  
  
“Mount Weather is gone,” Octavia couldn’t help but retort.  
  
“Ah, she speaks,” the man said. “And now I have no doubt that she is a Sky Person.”  
  
“And she’s also right,” Lincoln said. “Mount Weather has fallen. The Sky People destroyed it.”  
  
“I know,” he answered, as though it was of very little consequence. “The _wanheda_ is famous in these lands.”  
  
“What good is she to you?” Lincoln asked, the confusion in his voice matching Octavia’s own feelings.  
  
“I already told you,” the man growled. “We will take her to the mountain and exchange her for bounty. I did not say _which_ mountain.”  
  
Octavia felt her heart freeze as she realised the implication of what he was saying. “Lincoln…”  
  
“I don’t know,” he answered quietly, reading her mind. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”  
  
The man advanced toward them again, raising his sword. “We are done talking. Give her to me now.”  
  
“Just wait a minute!” Octavia exploded. “My-” She broke off, realising she had almost put Bellamy in danger too. “Our friend,” she recovered, “is dying and he needs this medicine _now,_ not later.”  
  
“That is not my concern, Sky Girl. Now get off that horse or we will put a dozen arrows into your man.”  
  
“Hold on to me,” Lincoln ordered her, and her fingers had just barely had time to tighten around his stomach when he turned the horse and started it across the mountainside. The terrain was brutal, and the animal couldn’t move quickly.  
  
The first arrow hit her left shoulder, and she felt it like a physical blow rather than sharpness as it glanced off the bone of her shoulder blade and came loose, ripping a sizable gash. She hissed in pain and she felt Lincoln tense as he realised she was hit, but there was nothing they could do about it- she was behind him on the horse, they were running away, so she was going to have to take the brunt of the men’s fire.  
  
“Keep moving,” she called urgently. “Just get out of range- I’ll be fine!”  
  
He urged the horse forward, but a moment later another arrowhead exploded through the side of her stomach, the shaft sticking straight through her body. The pain was profound, and she had to let go of Lincoln with one hand to press it against the wound, tucking the arrow between her thumb and forefinger. She could feel the blood coursing out of the wound, sticky and hot, but she didn’t dare look down. She was careful to keep the arrowhead from cutting Lincoln.  
  
Behind her, she heard the men yelling and cursing at one another, shouting about how they needed her alive. She hoped that argument would buy them enough time to get away, but the she heard words that made her heart sink, “Stop aiming for him and shoot the horse!”  
  
Lincoln urged the animal to run faster, but with the rocks and loose earth beneath its feet, it really couldn’t do anything more than a slow canter.  
  
Even still, she knew they would have to be out of range soon of the men running on foot, and that this would be the worst of it. But before that thought had even fully formed, the horse let out the most horrific squeal and it stumbled, pitching forward. At first Octavia thought it had caught its hoof on a rock or the exposed root of a tree, but then she saw the arrow sticking out of the animal’s neck and she knew it was much worse.  
  
The horse pitched sideways, stumbling, breathing hard, the breath coming not from its mouth now but from the gash in its neck, which squirted dark red blood onto the earth. It fell to one knee, and then collapsed. The next thing Octavia knew, her hands were slipping from around Lincoln’s waist and she was rolling over and over down the mountainside. Each roll caught at the arrow lodged in her side, the shaft wrenching back and forth inside her body and causing absolute agony.  
  
She tried to stop rolling, tried to look for Lincoln, tried not to pass out from the pain, but it was impossible. She was at the mercy of her own momentum, and her body was rebelling against the pain, anxious to steal her awareness of it. Lincoln was nowhere, her attackers were nowhere, and all she saw was the spinning green of the hillside. Her body was still cascading down when the darkness pressed in and enveloped her completely.


	16. 16- Bellamy

“They should be back by now,” Echo muttered under her breath as she wiped his forehead and bare chest down for what seemed like the thousandth time. He couldn’t believe he had so much sweat in him, but it just kept coming and coming. She had mixed more of the anti-fever medicine and given it to him, but his body seemed to burn it off quickly.

She felt his neck with her fingertips and shook her head with dissatisfaction. Bellamy tried to lift his head to look down at himself, but he felt weak. He saw enough to know he was in trouble though, his skin sallow and dotted with strange patches of red.  
  
“They’ll be back when they’re back,” he answered, but Echo didn’t seem to hear him. His voice was obviously much quieter than he thought, just a thread of its former self. Echo mopped his brow with cold water and he saw her eyes looking into his, her brows furrowed.  
  
“What did you say?”  
  
“I said they’ll be back when they’re back,” he replied. “There’s nothing we can do about it… we just have to wait.”  
  
Echo nodded slowly, watching him carefully for a moment. She moved to the top of his head and she slid her hands under his armpits, hauling him up to a sitting position and letting him slump into her before she dragged him backwards, leaning him upright against the trunk of a tree. She came around to the front of him and crouched low, looking into his eyes. “Try again to speak,” she ordered.  
  
He frowned at her. “Am I not making sense?”  
  
“You just said to me ‘I am not making fence,” she informed him. Bellamy’s face paled a little and he swallowed. She watched him carefully and it was clear those weren’t the words he had meant, so she squeezed his shoulder. “It will pass.” She glanced at the sun, gauging the time, clearly concerned about the whereabouts of Lincoln and Octavia. “Take some deep breaths.”  
  
Bellamy did as she said and tried not to be alarmed. He knew he was in no position to go looking for them, but Echo’s concern was making him feel like they might have gotten into trouble, and he was worried for Octavia. He knew Lincoln would keep her safe, but if they were late then something must have happened.  
  
He took a deep breath, trying to order his thoughts and force himself to be coherent. “How much longer do I have?”  
  
Echo hesitated. She examined his leg closely, the spider bite, his discoloured skin. She felt his clammy forehead, touched his neck again to feel his pulse, laid her cheek against his chest to hear his heartbeat. Finally she looked back to him and said, “You might be fine.”  
  
“And I might die,” he finished for her simply.  
  
Echo’s eyes met his. Calmly she said, “Everyone dies.”  
  
It made him laugh, but it was due to nervousness more than anything else. “Okay then.” He leaned his head back against the tree, adding, “I was kind of counting on it not being today, though.”  
  
She smiled a little, nodding to him, soaking his hair and neck with the cool water. “You and I will work together to stop that from happening, as much as we are able,” she assured him. “Perhaps death will be content to wait for your sister and Lincoln to return to us.”  
  
“I feel comforted already,” he said dryly, and then added, “Sitting up is better.”  
  
Echo went to the horses and she pulled a length of rope from one of the saddlebags, slicing off a long section. She returned to Bellamy’s side and tied it around his calf, uncomfortably tight, fashioning a crude tourniquet.  
  
“Will that help?” he asked.  
  
Tightening the rope even more, she tied it off and shrugged. “It won’t hurt, and it may slow the process.” Her eyes flickered to Bellamy’s. “I am no healer.”  
  
“So who are you?” he asked her, figuring it was a good idea to make conversation, suspecting it would probably be bad if he lost consciousness now. “Who were you, back in the Ice Nation? And how did you end up such a long way from home, to get taken by Mount Weather?”  
  
Echo seemed to bristle a little at all the questions. Finally she said, “I don’t believe this is the time to discuss such things.”  
  
“Sorry,” he answered. “I was just trying to fill the silence.” After a moment he admitted, “I’m afraid to fall asleep.” Now that the vapours he’d breathed had worn off, he imagined his dreams would be far less pleasant than the vivid vision he’d had of his quarters and his mother.  
  
“With good reason, this time,” she agreed. “Rest was your friend before, but I fear that if you fall asleep now you will probably never wake up.”  
  
Bellamy laughed softly. “You have an excellent bedside manner.”  
  
“What’s that?” she asked, confused.  
  
“Nothing.” He shook his head, smiling a little. “Just a bad joke.”  
  
Echo sat down next to him and held a cup of water to his lips. Bellamy gulped it down thankfully, but the effort exhausted him and he leaned back against the tree, feeling his eyelids grow heavy.  
  
“You should talk,” Echo told him. “You should talk so that you stay awake.”  
  
“I have no idea what to talk about,” he admitted. His head was pounding and his mind felt foggy and muddled.  
  
“Anything,” she urged him, refilling the cup and holding it to his lips once more. Again Bellamy drank the liquid down, and again it made him tired.  
  
The first thing that came to his mind was a story that he used to tell Octavia, one from the ancient Greeks. Their mother had instilled a love of mythology in both her children when they were small, but once Aurora grew too busy to tell stories, Bellamy had taken over the role, regaling Octavia with all sorts of tales to keep her life more exciting than the four walls that imprisoned her.  
  
Unlike his mother, who would read the stories religiously, only embellishing by creating funny or dramatic voices, Bellamy enjoyed changing the stories. When it suited him, he altered endings or varied details, usually to make the story more palatable for his sheltered sister.  
  
So, accounts of violence or rape became sagas of triumph and heroism. Characters who were once wicked were, in Bellamy’s telling, redeemed, and those who were cowards might find an untapped source of strength that they had never known. Mainly he wanted Octavia to have hope, and those stories were her only source of entertainment. She had enough heartache in her life.  
  
“Medusa was the granddaughter of Gaia, the earth,” he began quietly. Echo looked at him in surprise, as though she thought he was being incoherent again, but then she seemed to relax, realising it was a story, when he continued, “When she was a child she was beautiful. She had the most amazing hair, thick and dark, and pretty blue eyes. As a young girl she decided to dedicate herself to the goddess Athena, becoming one of her priestesses. Some years later, she met Poseidon, who was so handsome that she fell in love with him and broke the vow of chastity she had made to Athena.”  
  
“Chastity?” Echo asked, clearly surprised. “Why would any goddess request such a thing of a woman?”  
  
Bellamy was used to his stories being interrupted; as a child Octavia had been an expert at that, always full of questions. “That was their way,” he said, a phrase he’d heard Lincoln say before to explain cultural differences. This seemed to satisfy Echo so he continued, “As punishment, Athena turned Medusa’s gorgeous hair into venomous snakes. She caused her pretty eyes to turn bloodshot, and cast a spell on her so that any man who ever looked into those eyes would immediately turn to stone. Medusa was horrified, and she fled her homeland to Africa and began wandering the lands, her hair dropping baby snakes wherever she went. And that's how Africa became full of venomous snakes.”  
  
“Africa?” Echo interrupted.  
  
“It’s another continent,” he said. “Across the ocean from here… far away. This story is from a place closer to there than here.”  
  
“Did this really happen?” she asked, confused.  
  
He smiled a little; again she reminded him of Octavia, who had asked that question often. “I don’t know,” he said what he’d always said to her. “Maybe, a long time ago, far away. But the story has been passed down for centuries and centuries.”  
  
“I have never seen a woman with snakes for hair,” Echo declared.  
  
Bellamy smiled but said nothing about that, continuing his story, “Many years passed, until a greedy king asked a warrior named Perseus to bring him the head of Medusa for his collection. He gave Perseus a magic helmet that would make him immune to Medusa's stony glare.” He reached the next part of the story, where Perseus is meant to kill Medusa, but as usual he decided to change it. He felt bad for pretty Medusa, whose only crime had been to fall in love, and how lonely her life had become because of it. Where was Poseidon when his love was tortured so mercilessly, he’d always wondered? He disliked the true ending.  
  
"Perseus agreed to the mission, and travelled far away to the cave that Medusa now called home. He crept inside, his sword drawn, the helmet on his head, and he walked right up behind her, ready to cut off her head there and then." Bellamy stopped telling the true version and started on his own. "But then something amazing happened," he said. "He heard Medusa weeping. She didn't know he was there, so he just stood there listening to her cry, looking at her. Even the snakes on her head, her only friends, seemed to droop with sadness.”  
  
He paused, building the suspense, as he would have for Octavia, before continuing, “Suddenly, Perseus dropped his sword and at the sound Medusa leapt up, frightened, turning her eyes on him. When he didn't turn to stone, she wept fresh tears, knowing she was going to die. Perseus had heard many stories about Medusa's ugly face, her terrifying eyes, yet the woman before him still had much of the beauty that she'd had in youth. It was just that no one had ever been able to look long enough to see it. Thanks to his magical helmet, Perseus could, and he fell in love with Medusa right then and there. He decided to stay in that cave with her forever.”  
  
“And did they?” Echo asked curiously. “Did they live in the cave together?”  
  
He shook his head. “No, even better,” he said. “The goddess of love, Aphrodite, was so moved by their feelings that she reversed Athena's spiteful magic, so Medusa could finally be free.” He added the obligatory ending always insisted upon by Octavia, “And they lived happily ever after, the end."  
  
Echo frowned thoughtfully at the ground for a little while before she said, “I do not believe this really occurred. Perhaps I should tell you one of our stories. They certainly have no themes of _chastity.”_ She said the word like it was offensive, and he just continued to smile, shaking his head a little.  
  
But now that the story was finished, Bellamy felt his exhaustion creeping back. The sun was starting to dip low on the horizon now, and he frowned as he watched the light drain from the world. “Where are they?” he asked abruptly.  
  
“I don’t know,” she said. “You must rest now. Do not worry about your sister.”  
  
He shook his head. “That’s not really something I know how to do.”  
  
Echo glanced at him. “Then worry, but also focus on conserving your strength so that you will still be alive when she returns.” She mopped his forehead again, but his skin now felt more cold than hot, and he could tell from her expression that this wasn’t necessarily a good thing.  
  
Bellamy drew in a big breath and let it out slowly. He leaned back against the tree and watched as the sky changed colour. It was true what he'd said: he had no idea how not to worry about Octavia. He’d been doing that since he was six years old and he had no idea how to shut it off. Still, he tried to push it aside, tried to focus on staying alive.  


  
He woke with a jolt sometime later, only knowing that it had been a few hours by the way the night sky glittered with stars. The world looked like it was spinning, and his vision was blurry and skewed. His heart was pounding hard, and he could feel that his breath was too quick, but every time he tried to slow it down he felt like he was suffocating. Echo’s face came into view, and he felt her sponging down his face, neck, and bare chest with cool water. It felt good, but did little to lower his fever. The fever medicine must have worn off again, and his temperature was through the roof, his skin fiery.  
  
“Remember your plans?” Echo asked him, forcing him to focus his eyes on her face. “You aren’t meant to die today.”  
  
“That was yesterday,” he whispered, swallowing hard, fear rising in his chest. He cast his eyes around the campsite, and it was obvious that Octavia and Lincoln still weren’t back. “Where are they?”  
  
“Somewhere else,” she answered him. She clapped his face between her hands and forced him to look into her eyes. “Focus, Bellamy. You must stay alive.”  
  
He gulped in hungry breaths, but it was as if he couldn’t get enough oxygen no matter what he did. He felt his body shaking, feeling like he was freezing even though he was sure that he was actually burning hot. In the moonlight the skin below the tourniquet looked even more mottled and discoloured than it had earlier. He felt weak, like just keeping his eyes open was exhausting.  
  
Echo’s face became distorted as blackness seemed to press against the edges of his vision, He fought hard to stay awake, but it was a losing battle, and soon he couldn’t feel anymore- not the tree behind him, not Echo’s hand, not anything. He heard Echo cry out “No!” just before everything went dark.


	17. 17- Clarke

After she was given a proper room, clean clothes, and regular food and drink, the queen started to treat Clarke like a guest rather than a prisoner, but she couldn’t shake the sick feeling in the pit in her stomach. She knew it was a farce, and that she was absolutely still a captive here, and she also knew that the only reason she was being treated well at all was because the queen had broken her.  
  
That knowledge filled her with such shame, such wretched guilt, that she had trouble even getting out of bed in the morning. The fact that she even _had_ a bed ate away at her. Every night she dreamed of going home. She dreamt of Camp Jaha, of what the people she loved and cared about might be doing, and those dreams were all that got her through each new day.  
  
Clarke knew no one would be coming for her, because no one knew where she was. She was determined to get out of this place, just like she had been determined to get out of Mount Weather. No one was coming here to save her- so she would just have to save herself.  
  
Every time she went to see the queen, she played along with her- acted broken, acted defeated, answered the questions posed to her. But every other moment was spent trying to find a way out. Her guards were careful, and she was never taken outside or left alone unless she was with Elody or in her own room, which was always locked.  
  
The queen’s chamber also seemed secure, and Clarke knew that she didn’t have enough information to make an escape attempt, not knowing what was waiting outside that room. The queen was heavily guarded, so she knew there had to be people posted at every exit, ready to kill her if given half a chance. And so she waited, biding her time, always watching for any opportunity.  
  
She ate and drank whatever was put in front of her, wanting to keep her strength up for what was coming.  
  
Today, after eating in silence for a little while, Elody asked conversationally, “So how did you feel when Lexa left you to die?”  
  
The way she questioned Clarke, the tone she used, it was like she was asking about the weather, yet what she said most of the time was totally outrageous, intrusive, and often painful. Yet Clarke knew she had to take it all in stride, and she had learned not to react to the questions and answer them without emotion. She was determined not to give Elody any further ammunition against her.  
  
“It hurt,” Clarke said calmly, reaching for her cup of water and taking a long drink as she looked into the queen’s dark eyes. “I never saw it coming.”  
  
“You must feel very deceived,” she replied.  
  
It was easy for Clarke to tell the truth this time. “I do,” she said softly. “A few hours before, we were talking about going to Polis together. And then she abandoned me at the entrance to Mount Weather… the door was open. We could have followed through with the plan.” The bitterness was clear in her voice.  
  
“And so she has betrayed us both,” Elody said, nodding.  
  
Realisation dawned on Clarke that through their mutual anger at Lexa, they could bond- that she actually had something in common with this woman. She met Elody’s eyes as she nodded carefully and said what the queen wanted to hear, “Lexa only does what’s best for Lexa. I wish I’d had the strength to kill her for what she did to me and my people.”  
  
“She is the reason you are so bitter?” Elody asked.  
  
“Yes,” Clarke whispered, glancing down at her hands. “She is.”  
  
“You should hold your head up,” the queen said to her. “You are a leader in your own right, _Skaikruheda._ Lexa should not have done what she did to either of us.”  
  
Clarke shook her head and said softly, “Don’t call me that… I’m no one’s leader. I walked away from all that.”  
  
“You cannot walk away from something you are born to,” Elody said, shaking her head. “You may run away from it, but responsibility will always chase you.” She fixed Clarke with a thoughtful look and said, “But perhaps you are right… you are not _Skaikruheda._ You are _Wanheda_ now.”  
  
Clarke looked up at her, brow furrowed, not recognising the term. “What does that mean?” she asked apprehensively.  
  
Elody seemed somehow pleased that she had something to teach Clarke as she answered, “’Commander of death.’ It is what they’re calling you in the forests. It’s partly what led me to bring you here.”  
  
That revelation made Clarke’s face drain of colour, but she couldn’t decide if the queen was lying or not. Looking at Elody’s face, she couldn’t help but believe her. “Because of Mount Weather?” she asked cautiously.  
  
“Because of everything,” the queen replied, giving her a thoughtful look. “How many people have you killed, Clarke? There isn’t enough skin on your body to mark all the deaths you’ve caused.”  
  
The paleness in her cheeks was replaced with flaming red as she whispered, ashamed, “It was war. We did what we had to do to survive.” She forced herself to look strong, impassive, as she added, “You should understand that.”  
  
“I do,” Elody assured her. “And this is also war… so you must understand me doing what _I_ have to do to survive.”  
  
Clarke wanted to curl her lip in anger, wanted to yell and rage at the queen, insist that it wasn’t the same- far from it. But somehow she kept her voice calm and she asked, “So is that what you want? War with Lexa?”  
  
Elody said nothing for a moment and Clarke’s heart started beating faster because she realised she’d asked a direct question and she was scared that Alek would be called back in to deliver a punishment. But then the queen said simply, “I’m considering it.”  
  
Clarke shook her head. “She won’t go to war over me.”  
  
“No?” Elody asked, sounding intrigued, as though the statement surprised her.  
  
“No,” Clarke confirmed. “She washed her hands of me when she took her army and left me at the doors of Mount Weather.”  
  
“So what is it that Lexa _will_ go to war over?” the queen pressed. She seemed genuinely curious, truly interested in her answer, and Clarke knew that whatever she said next would be important.  
  
“I don’t know,” she admitted, because she really couldn’t think of an answer to that question.  
  
Elody looked disappointed, but not angry. “I would like you to give it some thought,” she said. “You and I are both angry at Lexa, and we both want her to suffer, is that not so?”  
  
It wasn’t, not completely, but Clarke nodded, and she let the anger for Lexa she _did_ carry come through in her voice as she said, “Yes.”  
  
The queen nodded her head. “We should not be enemies. We should be allies.”  
  
Clarke took a drink of the fragrant water in her cup while she considered how to respond. Finally she said, “Where are we?” Her voice was cautious, and as she met Elody’s eyes she held her breath, not sure whether the queen would be angry at her asking a second question, but at least in that moment Elody seemed sincere in her desire to be Clarke’s friend.  
  
“Tawa,” she answered. “It’s a beautiful place… it sits on a wide river, teeming with fish. The sky is large. It is cold, but it is light.”  
  
“I’d like to see it,” Clarke said carefully. “I hope I get to sometime.”  
  
“Perhaps you will,” Elody said, her dark eyes intently on Clarke’s. “We will see.”  
  
Clarke’s heart soared- it was a brief reply, but it wasn’t a ‘no.’ It was hope.


	18. 18- Bellamy

The motion of the horse jostled him back to consciousness, but he didn’t understand that that was what he was feeling right away. He tried to make sense of the gentle rise and fall of his field of vision, which was also sideways, the trees going past, and the steady, muffled hoof beats on the soft ground. It was the bristling of his horse’s mane that clued him in to his surroundings, and he realised that he was leaning forward over the neck of the animal. He tried to straighten up, but he didn’t know his wrists were bound until they caught against the underside of the horse’s neck, wrenching him forward again.  
  
The horse let out an irritated whinny, and Bellamy looked up just in time to see Echo turn around on her own horse up ahead, which was tied to Bellamy’s with a length of rope. She slowed, circling back around and putting a hand out, slowing his horse to a stop.  
  
“You’re awake,” she noted.  
  
“Yeah, where are we?” Bellamy asked, annoyed. “Why am I tied to this thing?” He realised it wasn’t only his wrists that were bound, but also his thighs and ankles, which were tied around and around with rope to keep him from slipping one way or another. He didn’t know who was more annoyed by it, him or the horse.  
  
“You are weakening quickly. I am taking you to get help,” she told him. She offered water, putting the small clay pot to his lips, and Bellamy took a long drink as she tipped it up.  
  
Once he was finished drinking he shook his head. “No, we can’t leave, Octavia and Lincoln are coming back to the camp.”  
  
“They are long overdue,” she said. “You have been asleep for nearly two days. We could not wait any longer, but they will know where we have gone.”  
  
“But what if-”  
  
_“Bellamy,”_ Echo said firmly. He looked at her, at the urgency on her face as she said gently, “Look at your leg.”  
  
As soon as she said that, he didn’t want to, but he cast his eyes down anyway. His calf was unrecognisable below the tourniquet still tied under his knee. Where there had once been the smallest round lump, barely noticeable, there was now a horrific open wound. It was like a crater in his flesh, a good ten centimeters across, the skin cracked and sloughed away from the edges of it, the centre open, deep and moist, pink like only the inside of a body could be, oozing pus. The whole bottom of his leg was so red he looked like he’d spent a week in direct sunlight, and his toes were half red, the tips turning black.  
  
“How am I not dead?” he whispered, meeting her stern brown eyes.  
  
“You will be soon,” she assured him, shaking her head. “We _must_ keep moving.”  
  
This time he didn’t argue, he just let her lead his horse onward through the mountainous terrain. He dared to take another look at the wound, and he felt his vision swimming from the mixture of the gore and the motion of the horse, and the edges of his vision went dark. His head lolled forward back onto the horse’s neck, and once again he was unconscious.  
  
The next time he woke, Echo was slapping him hard in the face. He came to abruptly, trying to raise his hands to stop her, but they were still bound. Luckily she noticed his eyes were open, and she stopped hitting him.  
  
“Drink this,” she said urgently, holding a bowl of liquid to his lips. He gulped, coughing a little at the extreme bitterness of whatever she was feeding him, but her fingers anchored in his curls and she forced his head back. “All of it,” she said. He obeyed, and as soon as she let go of his head he passed out again.  
  
  
  
_Bellamy’s leg bounced as he sat outside the psychiatrist’s office, waiting impatiently for his name to be called. He was seething with anger, having been told the previous day that Octavia, now fifteen days in the Sky Box, was exempt from Visitor’s Day. The only information he’d been given was that she had a mental health block on her file, which meant nothing to him. This psychiatrist would supposedly have the answers._  
  
_He remembered the psychiatrist, her dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, the caramel skin of her hand as she reached out to shake his, the kindness in her near-black eyes. Santos, her name had been._  
  
_When she asked ‘What can I do for you?’ he immediately answered, ‘I want to see my sister.’_  
  
_“Until I’ve approved, she won’t be allowed to have visitors at all. Not you or anyone else.”_  
  
_“There_ is _no one else,” he growled. “I’m all she has.”_  
  
_“Yes,” Santos answered calmly. “And do you think that’s healthy?”_  
  
“Healthy?” _he asked scathingly. “No, of course it’s not_ healthy, _that’s the whole point. That’s why she got caught.”_  
  
_“Tell me about that,” Santos offered._  
  
_He took a deep breath. “When she was little it was easier,” he said, trying to explain so she would realise what their life had been like, and therefore just how important he was to Octavia and how much she needed him. “But when she got older she started feeling more and more stifled. She could hardly stand to be in that room half the time. She would pace for hours, or throw herself down on one of the bunks and scream into a pillow- she couldn’t scream out loud because someone might hear her. She couldn’t stand it, and neither could I… I couldn’t watch her wasting away in that goddamn room anymore.”_  
  
_“So you took her to the party,” Santos said calmly._  
  
_Bellamy let out a breath, long. “Yeah,” he said heavily. “I took her to the party. I took her to the window first, so she could look outside- we don’t have windows in our quarters on Factory Station.” A small smile played at his lips as he remembered that moment, showing Octavia her first glimpse of Earth, of a moonrise. “You should have seen her face.”_  
  
_“It was reckless, though, to take her to the party,” Santos said, drawing his attention back. “Wasn’t it?”_  
  
_“Yeah, of course,” Bellamy snapped. “I knew what was at stake, same as her, but I thought I had it all figured out.” He looked down at the floor, swallowing the lump of guilt that rose in his throat. “Obviously not. And now she’s here and our mother is dead.”_  
  
_“I’m sorry,” the doctor said quietly. When he looked at her, he noted that she did seem sincere._  
  
_“So do you see why it’s so important for me to be allowed to visit her?” he asked hopefully. “I’m all she has. I need to see her, and she needs to know that I'm still here, that I'm looking out for her.”_  
  
_“Bellamy,” Santos said firmly. “You and she need space right now. You are both far too codependent. It’s not either of your faults, but you are too reliant on each other, and what she needs right now is space- space from you. That’s the only way she’s going to mature. She needs to know she’s separate from you, and she’s never had that until now. She needs to know that she can survive your absence.”_  
  
_“But she can’t,” he protested. “She's never been alone a day in her life.”_  
  
_“Exactly.”_  
  
_Bellamy stood up and kicked at his chair, sending it sliding across the tile floor and against the wall. Santos stood up too, and she watched him calmly as he advanced on her, his eyes full of anger. “You're going to_ ruin _her,” he said savagely._  
  
_“No,” she answered, calmly. “I'm trying to stop_ you _from ruining her.”_  
  
_He wanted to punch her, to put his hands around her throat and squeeze until her eyes popped out. That desire for violence scared him a little and so he just clenched his fists, digging his fingernails into his palms until they hurt._  
  
_Finally, carefully, he pulled the chair back to its usual spot and sat down again. Santos returned to her own seat._  
  
_“When she's eighteen, she'll have a hearing,” she said gently. “And if they decide not to float her, she'll go home.”_  
  
_When Bellamy met her gaze her face was distorted before his eyes and he knew then that he was about to cry. He blinked back his tears, drawing in a calming breath and letting it out slowly. “But she won't be eighteen for almost two years,” he whispered._  
  
_“Then take this as a growth opportunity for both of you,” she answered. “Octavia has a very good chance of being pardoned_.”  
  
_“Yeah, no shit,” he snapped. “That’s because she isn't a criminal.”_  
  
_“Technically she hasn't committed a crime, but my job is still focused on her rehabilitation,” she said patiently. “And believe me, Bellamy, she needs to undergo serious psychological therapy before she’ll be ready.”_  
  
_At that, he lost it. “Yeah, because_ Jaha _made it so she had to live in that tiny little room for her entire life!_ Anyone _would go crazy in a place like that. You're lucky she's as normal as she is.” He glared at Santos, shaking his head, jabbing a finger in her direction._ “You _couldn’t have done any better than me. You have_ no _idea what it was like.”_  
  
_“You’re right, I don’t,” she answered. “And I invite you to make an appointment with one of the counselors on the Ark to discuss this further. But my concern, my priority, is Octavia. She has lived fifteen- nearly sixteen- years of life and in that time she only saw two other faces- yours, and your mother’s. Her entire childhood was constructed by the four walls of your quarters, and by only two other people. Her formative years were spent with no peers, no school, no outside contact… nothing. That's not normal, Bellamy. That leaves some deep scars.”_  
  
_“Don't you think I_ know _that?!” he exploded. “That's why I took her to that goddamn dance! I wanted her to be normal for one night. I saw her choking in that room every single day and I needed her to see that there was more. And it got her caught.” He shook his head, his whole body deflating a little as sadness slowly replaced his anger. “I just couldn't stand it anymore,” he said softly. “She deserved so much more.”_  
  
_“Please don't think I have no sympathy for your position,” Santos said quietly, and she did sound sympathetic. “But now that she is under my care and_ not _yours, it's up to_ me _to make the decisions that are best for her. Her life will not include you anymore. Not until she’s out of the Sky Box. Octavia has a good chance of being pardoned on her eighteenth birthday, but not if you interfere.”_  
  
_It was like a blow to his stomach- the finality of it. He leaned forward, dropping his head into hands. “How the hell am I interfering by showing that she has a loving family who’s willing to look after her when she gets out?” he tried. When that did not seem to move her, he gritted his teeth. “I’m going to come back here,” he said. “Every month, I’m going to come back here on Visitor’s Day and I’m going to demand to see her. You don’t understand. She_ needs _me.”_  
  
_Santos shook her head. “She's not even supposed to_ have _a family. If you came down here and demanded to see her again and again, all you’d be doing is bringing attention to everything that's wrong in her life, to why she’s here in the first place. If I’m going to give her the best chance of a pardon, I need to show that she’s changed, matured, moved on. That she can be a productive member of society. Not that she’s still clinging to a relationship that is, technically, illegal.”_  
  
_“Goddammit, our relationship shouldn’t be illegal!” he snapped. “I’m her brother, she’s my sister. Maybe it’s not allowed, but_ we _didn’t make that choice, and we love each other. There’s nothing_ wrong _with that.”_  
  
_“And your mother loved her, didn’t she?_ She _made the choice to have a second child. It was_ her _love that brought your sister into being, but it’s also why she was floated,” she said bluntly. “You say you love Octavia, and yet you're prepared to come down here every month to throw a wrench into her recovery. Love can be destructive as well as healing, Bellamy. Which kind do you think_ yours _might be?”_  
  
_He didn’t answer. If he could have killed her with a look, she would have fallen dead on the floor. But it didn’t matter- she was finished. The only other thing she said was, “I'm issuing a trespass order against you. If you come back to the Sky Box, you’ll have committed a crime. And let me remind you, you're twenty-two years old, so if you do get arrested you’ll be seeing the inside of an airlock- not me. So stay away, Bellamy. Find a way. Just trust this process and forget about her for now. Get on with your life, because believe me- together, she and I will be working on getting her on with hers.”_  
  
_He shook his head, his voice small. “You have no idea.” His body was tiny knot of anger and despair, and his glare was cold. “I could never forget about her.”_  
  
_Santos stood up and opened the door for him to leave. “Then you’re going to have a very miserable time.”_  
  
_If only she’d known._  
  
  
  
Bellamy’s eyes opened slowly. He didn’t appreciate that dream, the memory, having to relive the heartache of knowing Octavia was lost to him until her eighteenth birthday, maybe forever, and of having his love for her challenged. He’d _loathed_ that woman, could still taste the hate, thick and angry, in the back of his throat. He must have dreamed it because Octavia was on his mind. Where _was_ she?  
  
Wherever he was, it was dark, and he couldn’t see anything for a long moment. The first thing he made out was a light flickering nearby, and then he could make out shapes and he realised they were in the room of someone’s house- there were chairs, a bed, and the flickering was coming from a small hearth in the wall, where something was bubbling.  
  
He tried to call Echo’s name, but he couldn’t seem to find his voice. Even the act of turning his head from side to side to look for her was almost impossible. He could feel soft furs beneath him, but he had an odd sensation of numbness, as though nothing around him was quite real.  
  
Bellamy licked his lips, which were rough and cracked. He wanted to sit up, to look at his leg, to see if he even still _had_ a leg, but he couldn’t make his body do what he wanted. All he could do was lay there, shifting his eyes around, unable to move at all.  
  
After what seemed like hours, Echo’s face appeared above his and the relief was instantaneous. “We have given you something for the pain, and something to keep you still,” she explained to him. “You were thrashing, making yourself worse.” She gave him an accusing look.  
  
“My leg?” he asked, and his voice sounded like someone else’s.  
  
“Still there,” she answered, as though reading his mind. “We are trying to save it.”  
  
“Octavia?” he asked next. The look on Echo’s face told him that his sister was still missing. “How long?”  
  
“Long enough,” she answered, gently. “They made it to this village, to the healer that is helping us now, and they traded a horse for your medicine. They should have returned to us days ago.”  
  
Bellamy tried not to panic. “So what happened to them?”  
  
“Bellamy,” she said gently. “You know I cannot tell you that.”  
  
“We have to find them.”  
  
“Once you have healed, we will leave this place and search for them,” she promised. “But right now, you cannot even move… you must focus your strength on your healing. Your death will do them no good.”  
  
His mind was racing, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Okay then,” he said, finally. “So what do we have to do to get me better?”  
  
“Drink this,” Echo instructed, tilting a cup to his lips. Whatever she was feeding him tasted disgusting, but he downed the whole thing without complaint. “You must do everything we say if you wish to save your leg, your life, and your sister. Do you understand?”  
  
He nodded. “Who’s ‘we’?”  
  
Echo called out in Trigedasleng, and an older woman appeared at her side, clicking her tongue as though chiding him. “This is Lala,” Echo explained. “The healer of this village. She is working hard to snatch you from death.”  
  
“Tell her thank you,” Bellamy said. “Please.”  
  
Echo nodded and said to Lala, _“Belomi ron chich mochof.”_ Lala smiled at him and patted his cheeks in her hands, nodding. She spoke to Echo for a moment, and then Echo smiled at the woman, nodding her head before saying to Bellamy, “She hopes that you live.”  
  
“Well that makes two of us,” he said dryly, as Lala moved away.  
  
“Three,” Echo said. Something about her tone made him look at her, and they locked eyes, her own soft with concern. She gingerly wiped a cool, wet cloth over his burning skin, down his face, over his neck, and across his chest, still looking into his eyes as she did so. He didn’t know her well enough to read her, so he wasn’t sure if it was confidence or concern that he saw in her eyes as she evaluated his well-being, or lack thereof.  
  
She tucked her hand behind his head and lifted his chin, pressing another cup of bitter liquid to his lips. “This will make you sleep,” she said. “We must clean and dress your wound now, and you will not be able to stand the pain.”  
  
Bellamy gritted his teeth but drank the liquid down, draining every bit of it. Even before he was finished his head started swimming as she gently laid it back on the furs. She resumed cooling him, soothing his fiery skin as she waited for unconsciousness to overcome him. He reached up and caught her hand, curling his fingers around hers. “Thank you,” he whispered.  
  
Echo’s eyes flickered to their hands, then back to him. For a long moment she did nothing, until he felt the smallest bit of pressure as her fingers tightened around his. But then she pulled back abruptly, glaring at him. “Do not make things more complicated than they already are,” she said in annoyance, dunking the cloth back in the cold water and sweeping it more firmly across his skin.  
  
He felt like a chastised little boy and he didn’t know quite what to say. He’d only been trying to thank her for all the hard work she was doing, all the effort she was putting into keeping him alive. Finally, feeling a bit ridiculous, he just said, “Sorry.”  
  
Echo narrowed her eyes, looking at him sharply as if she thought he might be insincere. Satisfied that he had meant his apology, she nodded. His vision was blurry now, and his hearing was starting to fade as he felt the darkness closing in. He tried not to be afraid, tried not to feel like he was dying, tried to remember that he trusted her. Her eyes were steady and warm.  
  
“Your fight is _not_ over, Bellamy,” she said firmly, and he felt the cool touch of her palm against his cheek. The last thing he remembered was her face leaning in close, her long hair tickling his chest, and then the gentle touch of her lips against his. But he couldn’t be sure if it was real or part of a dream.


	19. 19- Octavia

When she opened her eyes, her first impression was one of emptiness. The room was small, not decorated, cold and sterile. The lights were bright, and let off a soft hum that was irritating. She was on a bed, and the only other furniture in the room was a toilet, set against the wall, and a movable curtain to give some semblance of the possibility of privacy. It was bigger than her family’s quarters on the Ark, but it felt much smaller.  
  
Slowly Octavia edged off the bed to stand on the floor, feeling a dull pain in her lower side and shoulder. Belatedly she remembered being shot twice with arrows, and then it all came flashing back- the mountain, the strangers, their demands, fleeing, the horse falling… and after that, nothing.  
  
Heart pounding, Octavia ran to the door and grabbed the handle, pulling on it as hard as she could, trying desperately to open it, but it was locked. There was no window, and the only thing on the wall was a small panel that looked like a speaker. She tried yelling into it, banging it with her palm, but nothing happened. When she pressed her ear to the door there was only silence and that soft, incessant droning. It reminded her of the Ark, that constant machine hum, but it had been long enough since she’d heard it that the sound grated on her terribly.  
  
She tried to attack the door, tried to kick it open, letting out a frustrated yell when all that earned her was sore feet. Her sword was gone. Her clothes were gone, replaced by a simple outfit of a gray cotton pants and shirt. Pacing back and forth, she could barely contain her rising stress. This was just like back on the Ark- a small room, being alone, not knowing when someone might come in, nothing to do. It was enough to drive anyone crazy, and though Octavia had had a lot of practice in a situation like that, it only seemed to make it more claustrophobic.  
  
Octavia sank down on the floor, sitting, waiting, and trying to remain calm. It seemed like a long time before anything happened- there was no way of knowing just how long had passed, and then there was a soft crackle over the speaker panel.  
  
A female voice, calm and almost pleasant, said, “Welcome to the Raven Rock Mountain Complex. Please remain calm. You will not be harmed. Standby for further instructions.”  
  
“Yeah right,” Octavia said, under her breath, her whole body tensing, expecting a fight.  
  
Then something happened that surprised her. The message repeated, but this time it wasn’t English- the woman’s voice again, friendly and calm, spoke the same four phrases in Trigedasleng. Octavia didn’t understand every word, but because she understood enough she knew it was the exact same message. It made no sense to her.  
  
She didn’t have long to ponder over the strangeness of the situation before she heard a soft click and her door started to open. Octavia scrambled to her feet and brought up her hands, crouching slightly in a defensive posture. She felt her sword’s absence keenly, but she knew she had to make do with what she had.  
  
Two people stepped into the room, and they were both wearing biohazard suits similar to the ones that she’d seen on the mountain men. That sight alone was enough to stop her heart.  
  
One of the figures put up its hands and said gently, “Please. We mean you no harm.” It was a woman. She said the same thing in Trigedasleng.  
  
“Who are you?” Octavia asked in English.  
  
“My name is Moira,” she answered, hands still outstretched, as though she was a bit afraid that Octavia would attack at any moment. The other person had a gun held out towards her, and they looked nervous as well. “Please,” Moira said. “Come with me and we’ll explain everything.” Again she said, “We mean you no harm. In fact, we’ve healed your wounds.”  
  
“Where am I?” Octavia demanded. “How long have I been here? Where’s Lincoln?”  
  
“Who?” Moira asked uncertainly.  
  
Octavia’s heart started beating faster. “Lincoln. The man I was with. Where is he? I want to see him _now.”_  
  
“I’m sorry,” the woman said, and her voice sounded gentle. “You came here alone.”  
  
She tried not to panic. She tried to reassure herself that there were many reasons she might be here without Lincoln, and that it didn’t necessarily mean he was hurt or worse, but of course her mind went there immediately. “What do you mean, came here?” she asked. “I didn’t _come_ here… the last thing I remember I was in the forest, with Lincoln. I was shot.”  
  
“I promise I’ll explain all that,” Moira said. “But first we need to complete the decontamination process. Now that you’ve mostly healed from your wounds, you can be brought inside Raven Rock. You don’t have to stay here in the biohazard bay anymore.”  
  
“That’s fine,” Octavia snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m fine with being a hazard.”  
  
Moira seemed uncertain for a moment. Hesitantly she said, “You can’t stay here.”  
  
“Then let me go,” she retorted.  
  
“I can’t do that either.”  
  
She felt a chill run down her spine. “Where am I? What is this?”  
  
“I promise you, everything will be explained, if you just come with me.” There was something about Moira’s voice, something soothing, almost maternal, but Octavia didn’t want to trust her. She remembered the stories about Mount Weather, about how at first it had seemed like a safe haven, utopia, and by the end it was revealed as hell.  
  
She had little choice, though, but to go with this woman. She felt like a trapped animal, uncertain and scared. It reminded her of what had happened to her directly after the masquerade dance- she’d been ‘processed,’ as they called it, by the medical staff on the Ark: poked, prodded, catalogued, immunised, fingerprinted, retina scanned, photographed, and put into a room not unlike this one.  
  
In the weeks after Clarke left, Bellamy had told her, slowly and gradually, of what he’d endured when he’d been taken in to Mount Weather. Thinking of his stories, she couldn’t help but feel apprehension growing in the pit of her stomach as she followed Moira out of the room, the other person trailing behind them, his gun held to Octavia’s back.  
  
She was led down a corridor that was just as blank and cold as her room had been, and eventually to another door. Moira unlocked this door and held her hand out, indicating that Octavia should enter.  
  
“I’ll be waiting for you on the other side,” she said gently.  
  
She remembered Bellamy’s description of the decontamination room- the grated floor, the collar around his neck, hands and feet chained, painful yellow powder that burned being sprinkled on his naked body, boiling water pumped through a hose and sprayed at him with force, a rough brush grinding it all into his skin until he bled, that feeling of not being able to breathe… often when they’d discussed it, he’d had to stop because the memories were too traumatic.  
  
So it was with great trepidation that Octavia entered that room, and she heard a lock click back into place. She was standing in a very short hallway, another door at the end of it. She took a deep breath and walked the few steps forward, and then through the second door, bracing herself for what was to come.  
  
The room was nothing like Bellamy had described. Instead of being big and open, cold and dark, with rusty metal grates and cruel men waiting to torture her, it was a small room with a few cubicles off to one side, and another door at the end. She was the only one there. There was a sign posted on the wall, and it gave clear instructions without any words- using only pictures to convey the message that she should step into one of the cubicles before proceeding.  
  
She did so, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. There was a small speaker set in the wall here too, and as if on a sensor, it crackled to life the moment Octavia entered the narrow little room, which had only a small door about the size of a cupboard on one side, and a shower stall completely enclosed in glass on the other. “Welcome to decontamination,” a pleasant female voice announced. “Please remove all clothing and place in the chute, then step into the shower.” Again, the message repeated in Trigedasleng.  
  
Octavia looked around to make sure no one was watching, but she was totally alone. Her own clothes were obviously long gone, so she had no qualms about removing what she was wearing and pulling open the small door in the wall, revealing a chute that seemed to lead quite a ways down, judging by the darkness at the end of it. It was too small for her to slip through- she checked.  
  
Once she was naked she carefully examined the arrow wounds, and to her dismay she saw that they well on their way to being fully healed, scabbed over and closing. How long had she been here?  
  
Fists clenched in apprehension, Octavia stepped into the glass shower stall and closed the door. She heard a lock click into place, and for a moment she panicked, trying to pull the door back open, but it wouldn’t budge.  
  
Again, that crackling sound as the speaker kicked in, “Prepare for decontamination. Please keep your eyes and mouth closed at all times. Some of the chemicals used can be caustic to the skin. These affects are temporary.” Once more, the message repeated in Trigedasleng.  
  
Octavia squeezed her eyes shut. The water turned on, but instead of the burning pain she anticipated from the boiling water, it was only pleasantly hot, and it felt good on her skin. She kept her eyes tightly shut, but even still she could feel when the water stopped, and then she felt what she assumed was the yellow powder Bellamy mentioned beginning to pour over her. It stung, but without the prelude of boiling water it wasn’t agony. Once she was doused in the powder, the water started again. Octavia ran her fingers through her hair, enjoying the feeling of the shower as it washed the powder down the drain.  
  
When the water shut off automatically, the door lock disengaged, and Octavia stepped out of the shower. Again, the soothing female voice instructed her in English and Trigedasleng, “Please proceed to the exit doors to choose your clothing. When you are ready, press the green button for entrance to the mountain. Welcome to Raven Rock.”  
  
She couldn’t believe that was it. Octavia walked down the hall and through the exit door as instructed. There were clean towels set out, as well as a rack of clothing. She dried herself, wrapping herself up in a towel as she examined her options. She settled for a pair of black pants that were a little baggy but fit reasonably well, a plain blue tank top, and a white zip-up sweatshirt.  
  
The green button was across the room, next to the final door. When she pressed it, nothing happened for a moment, but then the door unlocked and she pushed it open, stepping through warily, but somewhat soothed now that she was clean and had kept her dignity intact through what had been a relatively painless decontamination process. Compared to what Bellamy had endured, that had been nothing.  
  
There was a woman waiting for her on the other side- she was about Aurora’s age when last alive, but where Octavia’s mother had been dark this woman was extremely fair. Her face was smattered in more freckles than even Bellamy’s, and whereas his were brown, her own were as red as her hair, which was pulled back in a loose ponytail that hung to just between her shoulder blades.  She was pretty in a plain sort of way, but what Octavia noticed most was how kind she looked.  
  
“Moira?” she asked hesitantly, not wanting to be sucked in by the woman’s sympathetic appearance. She was still a prisoner here.  
  
“Yes,” the woman answered with a smile. “Welcome to Raven Rock. Will you tell me your name?”  
  
She hesitated, but then felt like she had to. “Octavia,” she said shortly. “Where’s Lincoln?”  
  
“I don’t know where Lincoln is,” she said gently. “Or even who he is. I’m sorry. But I’m happy to answer all your other questions. Please come with me- we have dinner waiting, and I look forward to chatting with you. It’s not every day that I meet a person from space.”  
  
Octavia didn’t like any of this, but she followed Moira. Her eyes darted everywhere, trying to work out if there were any exits, anything she could use for a weapon. But the walls were smooth and bare, and there were no furnishings or even doors leading off this particular corridor. The only decorations were small alcoves from which plants- ferns, ivy, succulents- spilled out. The impression it gave was one of an overwhelming green, tempered only by the white of the polished floor and painted cement walls.  
  
The dining room was also filled with plants, but Octavia noted that there were no windows. A big table took up most of the room, with enough chairs to seat twenty, but only two places were laid out, at the far end of the table. Moira sat at one, and motioned for Octavia to join her. There were no guards, so of course Octavia considered just killing her and making a run for it, but it was too risky when she had no idea where she was or how many people she was up against.  
  
“We’re underground?” she asked as she sat down. She looked at her plate suspiciously, noticing the quality and decadence of the meal. It looked delicious, but she didn’t touch it.  
  
“That’s right,” Moira said with a nod. She took a bite of her own food and said, “You were brought here by huntsman, Octavia. Mount Weather issued a bounty on Sky People months ago.”  
  
“But Mount Weather is gone,” Octavia said.  
  
“Yes, but we aren’t. I suppose they thought they could still cash in if they brought you here, even after Mount Weather fell. They assumed that what was useful to them would be useful to us.”  
  
“So that’s why I’m here?” Octavia asked, her heart sinking. “To be _useful?”_ She knew the likely implications of _that._  
  
“As I said,” Moira told her gently. “We mean you no harm.”  
  
“Then why am I here?” Octavia countered. “Why not just let me go?”  
  
“Well… lots of reasons,” Moira said honestly. “One being that we put a lot of resources into saving your life. You’d lost quite a bit of blood by the time you arrived here, and that arrow was very deep.”  
  
“So you saved me just to use me,” she said stubbornly.  
  
Moira sighed and took another bite of her food, chewing thoughtfully. “Maybe that was a poor choice of words,” she said finally. “Can we start again? I know you’ve had dealings with Mount Weather, but I assure you Octavia- we are _not_ them.”  
  
“So who are you, then?”  
  
“Eat,” Moira urged. “All you’ve had is IVs for the last few days, so please- eat.”  
  
Octavia looked down at her plate, but she resolved not to have even a bite. As if betraying her, her stomach growled audibly. Moira smiled softly at her, and then she seemed to have a thought and she set down her fork. She reached out, moving Octavia’s plate away, and replaced it with her own. “There. Maybe that will reassure you. I wouldn’t heal you just to poison you.”  
  
Hesitating for another moment, Octavia finally gave in. She had no idea what it was, but it was certainly delicious.  
  
“I know you must have many questions,” Moira said as she began eating from Octavia’s original plate. “As I also have for you. I’m sure that, over time, we can learn a lot from each other.”  
  
“I don’t have time,” Octavia replied. “My brother is waiting for me.”  
  
“You have a brother?” she asked, seeming very interested.  
  
“Yeah, and he was sick last time I saw him- _really_ sick. Your little bounty hunter friends interrupted us on our journey back to him. We were bringing him medicine.” Her face paled suddenly as she realised it had been days, and Bellamy would have never received the leechdom. “I have to go,” she said urgently, getting to her feet abruptly.  
  
There was a growing fear in the pit of her stomach that Bellamy was dead, but her mind rebelled against the idea. It couldn’t be true. Somehow, he had to live. Even if she and Lincoln hadn’t made it back in time, surely Echo would have helped him. She had to believe that because the alternative was too terrifying.  
  
“Please sit down,” Moira said gently.  
  
“No!” she snapped, using anger to cover her fear. “No, I can’t, I have to find Bellamy,” she insisted, shoving her chair back and hurrying to the door. When she grabbed the handle and pulled, it was locked, and claustrophobia slammed into her like a fist. She whirled back to Moira. “Let me out of here right now!”  
  
“Octavia,” Moira said calmly, and there was something disturbing about the tone of her voice. “You won’t be leaving here.”  
  
Swallowing hard, feeling that fear rising from her stomach and spreading into her chest, Octavia said, “What? What are you talking about?” She didn’t want to comprehend the words.  
  
“You are very welcome here,” Moira said gently. “We have welcomed many outsiders into Raven Rock, over the years. Once you enter this mountain, though, you can never leave again. But I assure you, this isn’t a prison.”  
  
Octavia’s fists clenched, unclenched, and then clenched again. She gritted her teeth, shook her head, stared hard at Moira. Her blue eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared in anger as she realised that this woman was dead serious. “Are you insane?” she demanded. “That’s the _definition_ of prison.”


	20. 20- Bellamy

If he had awareness of anything at all, he knew he was going downhill, that death was a real possibility. He lay on a narrow pallet of wood and straw, covered in furs, in front of Lala’s hearth. His temperature rose and then plunged again, and most of his body’s functions shut down as he lay there sweating, shivering, his heart pounding, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He often overheard the women muttering about him, but since they were only speaking Trigedasleng he couldn’t understand enough to grasp just how dire things might be. Only his own name and a few words were intelligible, just enough to make him worried.  
  
When he spoke, he knew from the women’s faces that his words made no sense, and his thoughts were cloudy and muddled, his sense of time and place confused. More than once he demanded to see Octavia, or his mother, but of course neither of them ever showed. Usually when he woke up it was only long enough to rant about something incoherent, maybe vomit, and then his dreams pulled him under again. Sometimes when he slept he was forced to relive unpleasant memories, while other times his dreams were completely invented by his mind and his fever, but still so vivid that he could have sworn they were real.  
  
He had no concept of all the medicines they were giving him, but each one tasted awful. Some of them were thick and sticky while others were watery and so strong smelling they made him gag before he even took the first sip. Still, with Lala’s gentle coaxing and Echo’s insistent force-feeding, he kept most it down.  
  
The skin on his leg continued to blister, split, peel back, and rot away, as the wound festered more and more. Bellamy was too squeamish to look at what they were doing to treat _that,_ but he had felt every sensation possible- sticky, watery, thick, heavy, dry, wet, burning, stinging, cooling, and even squirming things- placed on the wound. There were times when he was absolutely positive he was dying, or that they were making it worse, or that his leg was gone- rotted away or cut off. But he knew he had no choice but to trust them.  
  
The fever dreams were at best disturbing, at worst traumatic. Echo and Lala worked to feed him medicine that would ease his visions, but it really only took the edge off and not much else. Their priority was to save his life, and he couldn’t fault them for it. So he had to just lie there, at the whims of his body and his mind, trusting these two women he barely knew to take care of him.  
  
Today when Bellamy was jolted out of consciousness from yet another strange dream, he felt different. He coughed, feeling something boiling up in his throat, and rolled over to the side just in time to let the vomit spill out onto the floor and not choke him. He felt someone move up behind him and rub his back, and then that person held his shoulders as he rolled back onto his pallet. He looked into Echo’s eyes and noted that she looked surprised.  
  
“You can move.” She sounded impressed, maybe even hopeful.  
  
“Should I not be able to?” he asked. He blinked a few times, focusing on her face. He felt her palm on his forehead, the coolness of it.  
  
“And you can speak.” She wiped his face and brow with a cloth, then raised his head in her forearm and pressed a cup to his lips. “Drink.” He obeyed her, draining the liquid, glad it tasted like water and not like anything horrible.  
  
“So does that mean I’m better?” he asked, hesitant, afraid of the answer.  
  
“It appears so,” she said with a satisfied nod. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him up to a sitting position, letting him slump against her for a moment while he adjusted.  
  
Bellamy looked down at his leg, noting with relief that it was still there, and he thought he remembered it being more swollen, redder, so that made him feel hopeful. He felt so weak, like he hadn’t moved in days.  
  
“How long?” he asked her, again fearing her response.  
  
“A long time,” she said gently.  
  
He swallowed. “Octavia?”  
  
Echo gingerly extracted her body from his, slowly, seeing whether he would sit up on his own. When he managed not to waver, she nodded her head. “Good.”  
  
She started to move away, but he quickly grabbed her arm. “Where is she?”  
  
Echo pulled away from him and shook her head. “I do not know. There is still no word, but I also haven’t been looking for her. I have been preoccupied with keeping you alive.”  
  
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Thanks, but I get the feeling I’ve been laying around long enough. I need to find Octavia.”  
  
“You are truly an _infuriating_ man,” she said with a deep frown as she shook her head, pulling to her feet and going over to the hearth to stir one of the many pots bubbling above the fire.  
  
Bellamy rolled onto his hands and knees and grabbed hold of a shelf, using it to hold his weight as he raised himself to his feet. It took a lot longer than he wanted, but finally he stood there, palm planted on the wall, breath heaving, legs wobbling, struggling to stay upright. He looked up at Echo and saw her standing by the fire, glaring at him, arms crossed over her chest.  
  
“You cannot even _stand,”_ she snapped, returning to his side and grabbing him under the arm, pulling him over to a chair. He nearly toppled but she held his weight, swinging him around and sitting him down on the chair. She looked at him with clear disgust. “You are no help to your sister.”  
  
“How long has it been?” Bellamy demanded, wrenching his arm away from her.  
  
Echo let out an exasperated sound of frustration and said, “Days, Bellamy. It has been days of this, and there is no sign of Octavia or of Lincoln. Does that help?”  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. His heart felt like ice.  
  
Something about the look on his face seemed to soften her anger and she knelt down in front of him, carefully placing her hand on his knee. He looked at her, saw the determination in her soft brown eyes, but wasn’t sure of the meaning of that look.  
  
“Bellamy, I am sorry about Octavia- truly. But throwing yourself around like this, risking to undo all the hard work we have put into keeping you alive… it is selfish.”  
  
“Selfish?” he answered, straightening a little, not having expected her to say that at all. “Why is it _selfish_ to want to rescue my sister?”  
  
“Octavia is not a child. She is a _warrior._ If she has gotten herself into trouble then she has just as much chance of getting herself out of it again. And if she is meant to die then nothing you can do will save her. We do not know if she is dead or alive, but if you kill yourself trying to find her then it will not help either of you.”  
  
He was sick of being lectured, sick of her being right. “I need her,” he protested, his voice soft.  
  
“And those may be the truest words that you have ever spoken,” she answered, standing up, going back to tending the pots.  
  
Bellamy shook his head, closed his eyes, and he had a crazy idea suddenly- that he would _know_ if Octavia had been killed. That he would have felt it, somehow. “She can’t be dead,” he insisted.  
  
Echo nodded. “Then let us assume she is alive until we know otherwise.”  
  
“And she’s with Lincoln,” he reasoned. “So she’ll be fine.” He knew the man loved his sister, would keep her safe even if she couldn’t, even if he had to die to do it.  
  
Echo said nothing to that. She found a wooden bowl and went back to the fire, spooning out something thick and then bringing him the bowl, handing it to him with a spoon. “Eat this.”  
  
“What is it?” he asked apprehensively.  
  
She gave him a soft smile and he thought, not the first time, that he didn’t understand her. “Food. Only a bland broth- nothing more.”  
  
He inhaled the steam rising from the bowl; it may have been bland, but it smelled amazing, and he realised then just how hungry he was. He ate slowly in case it might all come back up again, but he couldn’t help but think about Octavia, of where she might be, if she was okay, and what he was going to do now.  
  
Echo reached forward and laid her hand on his forehead. For once there wasn’t a sheen of sweat between his skin and hers. As he looked at her she nodded her head. “Good.”  
  
“I know you don’t want to hear this,” he said tentatively, meeting her eyes. “And I get what you’re saying- I know she’s a warrior, that she can take care of herself. Really. But _I_ need to know that she’s safe. So we still have to go after them.”  
  
“And what about Clarke?” she asked evenly. “We do not know where Octavia and Lincoln are. They may be fine. And yet we _know_ that Clarke is in danger.” She went back to the pots, stirring another concoction that smelled far less pleasant than the one he was eating.  
  
Bellamy hesitated. He felt torn, but still he shook his head. “Octavia was getting medicine to save my life. She didn’t come back, so she’s not fine.” He said it with great resignation, knowing without a doubt that it was true. She wasn’t okay… even if she was a warrior, and even if she was with Lincoln, something had gone very wrong.  
  
“There may be no trace of them,” Echo warned him. “No one knows what happened to them after they left this village.”  
  
As soon as she said that he knew what they had to do. Before she said that, his mind had been racing with possibilities of how he might track down his sister, how they would find the trail of wherever Lincoln and Octavia had been and how they got into trouble. But as soon as Echo said that- that no one knew what had happened after they left this village- he realised that their answers lay not outside, but _within_ the village.  
  
“Echo,” he said carefully, turning to look at her. “What about before they left the village? You said they made it right here to this hut, but then what? Did anyone actually see them leave? Was there anyone else they talked to besides Lala?”  
  
“I do not know,” she said, shaking her head slowly as she considered it.  
  
“Then let’s ask people,” he insisted, trying to sit up again. “It’s our best lead.”  
  
Echo placed her hands firmly on his chest and pushed him back down. “When you can walk, you can participate in that plan,” she said. “I promise.”  
  
He started to protest, but then he realised that she was- as usual- right. “Fine,” he said, giving her a wry smile. “Then let’s hurry up and get me well.”  
  
Echo returned his smile, flicking her eyes to the ceiling. “Finally we agree.”


	21. 21- Clarke

This time when she was taken for her breakfast with the queen, instead of being led down the now-familiar corridors to the queen’s dining chamber, she was instead taken outside.  
  
It felt like her first breath of fresh air all over again, that first time she’d stepped off the dropship, when everything still seemed possible. It was only now, in this moment, that she realised how much she’d missed the outdoors.  
  
It was cold, but at first Clarke didn’t notice as she was led through a sort of outdoor patio area and then onto the snow, which crunched under her feet.  
  
Once she had been given her own room, Clarke was brought clean, fresh clothes, and she’d willingly changed into them, as it had been so long since she’d been able to wash her own. They had fit her well- soft suede pants, leather boots done up with sinew laces, and a cotton shirt with long sleeves that tapered at her wrists.  
  
When her escort brought her to the queen, Elody had a beautiful coat waiting for her. It was long and cosy, reaching nearly to Clarke’s knees, and lined with the fur of some very soft animal- rabbit, perhaps, or mink. The cuffs of each sleeve had a loop for her thumb, and a leather cord she could cinch to keep in the heat. The buttons fastened all the way up to her chin, and it had a hood lined with the same soft fur.  
  
It was Elody that presented her with the coat, and it was Elody who helped her into it and gave a nod of approval when she looked Clarke up and down. “You will be much more comfortable now,” she declared.  
  
“Thank you,” Clarke said carefully, taking her seat at the breakfast table. She couldn’t help but notice there were only two chairs. Tentatively she asked, “Where’s Alek?”  
  
“He’s not invited,” she answered. “I felt it’s been too crowded at my table of late, and besides, he won’t be needed anymore.”  
  
Clarke’s gratitude was instantaneous and overwhelming. For the first time in what seemed like forever, she felt she had real appetite as the two of them started eating. Without the threat of pain over her head, and with the fresh air around her, she felt free in a way she hadn’t for too long. The table was set up under a trellis that kept the snow from landing on them, but all around them it was falling softly, gathering in the branches of the evergreens that surrounded them. The courtyard was sheltered and Clarke couldn’t see far, but she didn’t care- she was outside, the air was quiet and crisp, and she was happy.  
  
Even Elody’s conversation style had changed. Instead of endless questions, grilling Clarke and extracting each bit of information like a shard from her heart, she seemed willing just to chat. Her interest seemed less focused and more casual, even allowing Clarke to direct the flow of conversation with her own questions, though she was sure to be careful about what she asked, lest she ruin the queen’s good mood.  
  
“This is pheasant from the imperial forest,” she told Clarke. “Can you taste the difference?”  
  
She couldn’t, but politely she said, “Yes… it’s delicious.”  
  
Elody smiled at her and raised a finger, so that the girl standing nearby rushed over to fill their glasses with spiced wine. Clarke watched the girl carefully, noting that she looked young.  
  
“This is Yana,” Elody told her as she noticed her interest, and the girl bowed her head quickly in Clarke’s direction. “Her mother has sent her to me to learn.”  
  
Clarke smiled a little at the girl. “Is your village far from here?”  
  
Yana’s eyes flickered to the queen, but Elody just waved her hand, indicating that it was okay for her to answer. “Yes, _Skaikruheda,”_ she said, surprising Clarke with the use of that name. “It is nineteen days on horseback, in good weather.”  
  
“If Yana proves herself, she will be allowed to train with my warriors,” Elody explained to Clarke. “After three summers of service she is eligible for that honour.”  
  
“How long have you been here?” Clarke asked her.  
  
“Two summers,” Yana answered with pride. “One more and I will be ready.” Clarke guessed that she was somewhere in the vicinity of twelve or thirteen years old.  
  
“And after you’ve trained, will you go home?”  
  
“No,” Yana answered, and Clarke wondered if she saw a flash of sadness there, though it was so fast she couldn’t be sure. “I will stay here for the rest of my life.”  
  
“What about your family?”  
  
“They rejoice that I have found a good future here,” she replied carefully. “It is very far to travel, but perhaps one day I will visit them.”  
  
“They are peasants,” the queen told Clarke, as if that explained everything.  
  
Yana nodded her head and then faded into the background once again, standing very still against the courtyard wall, her eyes fixed on the floor. Clarke couldn’t imagine behaving like that for one day, let alone three years, but Yana seemed genuinely proud of herself.  
  
“What positions did your parents hold on the Ark?” Elody asked her, but there was something different in her tone- despite the direct question, Clarke felt she could decline to answer without consequence. But she didn’t mind, so she answered her.  
  
“My mother was chief medical officer,” she said. “My father was senior environmental engineer.”  
  
“Those sound like positions of great importance.”  
  
“Yes,” she said, nodding. “They were very valuable to the Ark.”  
  
“And your mother?” Elody asked. “Is she a healer now, too?”  
  
Clarke was careful with her answer, not wanting to give too much away. She didn’t want to say that Abby was also the Chancellor, so she just nodded her head. “Yes. It’s always been her passion to help others. I was a medical apprentice myself, before…” She trailed off, shrugged.  
  
“And is that because your mother wanted you to follow in her footsteps, or is healing others your passion also?” the queen asked.  
  
Clarke ate quietly for a moment while she considered the question. Finally she said, “It’s always been in my nature to want to help… put others first.”  
  
“And that is why you are _heda_ to the _Skaikru,”_ Elody said with a nod. “As leaders we must put our people before even our own strongest wishes.”  
  
Clarke couldn’t help but think of Lexa, of her constant lessons about leadership and sacrifice. _“To lead well you_ must _make hard choices… the truth is, we must look into the eyes of our warriors and say ‘go die for me’… you were born for this, Clarke. Same as me.’_  
  
“Something troubles you,” Elody interrupted her thoughts, and when Clarke met her dark eyes she said, “You are thinking of Lexa.”  
  
Was she that obvious? “No, I…” she started, but then trailed off, unable to deny it.  
  
“I understand,” the queen said, her voice gentle. “I understand how difficult it must be to remember her, think of her, after what she has done.”  
  
Clarke let out a long breath. “She did what she thought was right for her people,” she said, but her protest was half-hearted at best.  
  
“Perhaps,” Elody allowed. “But what about you? Did she have to betray _you?”_ They were back to painful subjects, sore and tender bruises on Clarke’s heart. She closed her eyes, tried not to react.  
  
The touch of the queen’s hand was so unexpected that she jumped, her eyes flying open again. Elody’s hand was on her forearm, and she squeezed gently before she withdrew it again, going back to her meal. Finally she said, quietly, “I am sorry for the pain she has caused you.”  
  
Clarke watched her for a moment, trying to figure out what she was really getting at, but it seemed nothing- she was sincere. “Thank you.”  
  
“I wish to be friends with you, Clarke,” Elody said calmly. “Why should we be enemies when we can be allies? Particularly when we share a common enemy already.”  
  
“Who?” Clarke asked, frowning. “Lexa?”  
  
“Is she not your enemy? I would imagine so, after what she did.”  
  
Hesitating, feeling conflicted, Clarke said, “I don’t know. It’s… it’s just not that simple.”  
  
“Clarke,” Elody said, using that gentle tone again. “It is only you and me here. It is not healthy to hold onto pain, and let it fester like a wound on your heart. You can be honest about your anger. She _betrayed_ you- left your people to _die._ You may have had the ingenuity to save them anyway, but that does not erase what _she_ did. Are you angry, or aren’t you?”  
  
“Of _course_ I’m angry,” Clarke snapped, reacting to Elody’s words as much as to Lexa’s memory. “I’m _furious_ with her.” For a moment her heart seized, expecting that cold stare to come back over the queen’s face, for her to call for Alek, for all this friendliness to fall away, but none of that happened.  
  
“Then be furious,” Elody said evenly. “It is a normal emotion. Betrayal breeds anger, and that is no one’s fault but her own.”  
  
Clarke just sat there, looking down into her food, and she couldn’t help but feel that anger blooming in her heart and spreading out into her chest. She had worked so hard to push it down, but Elody was right- Lexa deserved her anger, and besides, she wasn’t going to hurt anyone’s feelings because Lexa wasn’t here.  
  
“You are a forgiving person, Clarke, I can tell,” the queen said gently. “Perhaps too forgiving, if even those who deserve your anger are not given what they have earned. Lexa is known to be ruthless, and of course this is a necessary quality for any leader to possess… but even _I_ would think twice before betraying someone I loved as easily as she has done to you. Especially not twice.”  
  
Clarke had been listening carefully to everything she was saying and couldn’t help but agree whole-heartedly, but that last comment startled her, and she looked up suddenly. “Twice?” she asked, confused.  
  
Elody hesitated. “All I mean to say is that while you might excuse her actions at Mount Weather because she did it to save her people… I don’t know how you might forgive her for her second betrayal. A second mistake is not a mistake at all, wouldn’t you agree?”  
  
“Yes, but I don’t understand,” Clarke said, shaking her head. “I haven’t seen her since Mount Weather. That was when she betrayed me- the only time.”  
  
The queen seemed genuinely surprised. “Clarke,” she said gently. “Lexa is the Commander of eleven clans of people spread out across a huge expanse of land. Do you think that she does not know you are here? Do you think she has not chosen to leave you with me, even knowing what has happened before?”  
  
Clarke swallowed, and slowly she shook her head. “When I left camp I only told two people… she would think I’m still there. She wouldn’t know I was even gone, let alone that I was here. No one does.”  
  
“She does know,” Elody said, her voice soft. “She has known for weeks.”  
  
“What?” Clarke couldn’t stand to believe her. And yet something nagged at her- the knowledge that it was true. Lexa _had_ to know.  
  
“I’m sorry, Clarke,” the queen said, very gently. “I can only imagine how it must hurt to know that she has left you to die a second time.”  
  
Instantly she felt the tears welling up in her eyes but she fought them back, refusing to show that weakness. She shook her head, drawing in a deep breath.  
  
“But it does not have to end that way,” Elody continued, her voice still holding that gentleness that Clarke had come to know to be how she expressed sincerity. When she looked up, the queen’s dark eyes were soft. “You and I could be powerful allies, Clarke of the Sky People, and after how _Leksa kom Trikru_ has treated you, would an ally not be a welcome thing?”  
  
Slowly, Elody’s hand outstretched towards Clarke. She tried to find something in the queen’s words to argue with, something to protest against, but she couldn’t. She remembered the first day she’d come here, and all the days after, how she had tried desperately to find a common understanding with the queen, some way to get on her good side, to build an alliance, and now it was being offered to her directly. Besides, Elody wasn’t lying. Lexa _had_ betrayed her. She _did_ know that Clarke was here, but had chosen to ignore that fact. And it _would_ be useful to have an alliance with the Ice Nation, now that relations between Camp Jaha and the other Grounders were tenuous. It all made sense.  
  
But most of all, she was angry- angry at Lexa for her betrayal, angry about what that betrayal had forced her to do, angry at herself for leaving Camp Jaha. Her stomach was a knot of rage and she had to direct it somewhere.  
  
She made a snap decision and grabbed Elody’s forearm, nodding her head firmly. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” she declared.  
  
Elody’s smile was large as she gripped Clarke’s forearm and shook her hand, returning her nod. “I could not have said it better myself.”  
  
“I have one condition,” Clarke told her, feeling brave.  
  
“Oh?” Elody asked, seeming amused by the comment. “Very well, and what is that?”  
  
“I need you to send word to my people that I’m alive.”  
  
“Your camp is very far from here,” the queen pointed out.  
  
“I know, but it’s important to me. Please.”  
  
Elody seemed to consider the idea. “And who would you like this message to be delivered to? Your mother?”  
  
Clarke hesitated, wishing she could say yes to that, but it wasn’t the truth. “No. I want you to send word to Bellamy. He’s…” she trailed off, struggling to think of how to describe who he was to her. Finally she settled for, “He’s my friend... my second-in-command.” It wasn’t quite right, but it was close enough.  
  
“Very well,” Elody said with a nod. “I will send a messenger to inform this Bellamy that you are well.”  
  
The relief was instantaneous, and only then did she realise how much she missed him, wanted him to know where she was. Once he heard, would he come for her? "Thank you," she said softly.  
  
“You’re welcome,” the queen responded. “But I also have a condition to ask of you in return.”  
  
After a moment’s hesitation Clarke said, “Okay… what is it?”  
  
“When the time comes, I will tell you.”  
  
Immediately she shook her head, not liking the uncertainty of that. “No… that’s not how we do things where I come from.”  
  
Elody gave her a careful smile. “Then allow me to remind you,” she said calmly. “We are not in the place where you come from.”  
  
Clarke wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a warning.


	22. 22- Bellamy

Finally, after being spoon fed and drugged and coddled and sponge bathed for what seemed like forever, Bellamy was able to move well enough and stay conscious long enough to start to do those things for himself. His appetite returned with a vengeance and he ate so much he was worried Lala would get frustrated with him, but she seemed to love it, patting his cheeks each time she brought him a new meal. Despite the fact that they could barely understand a word that each other was saying at any given time, still they managed to hold a kind of conversation together.  
  
Bellamy’s leg had also improved dramatically- the wound was mostly closed, pink but healing, and the skin was no longer fiery hot to the touch. The poultices the two women applied and the bitter medicines they forced down his throat several times a day seemed to be doing the trick, and each day that passed the leg could take more weight.  
  
He was sitting up in a chair in front of the fire, a fur wrapped around his shoulders, devouring a bowl of stew, when Echo walked into the hut. She gave him an approving nod. “You are gaining weight.”  
  
“Yeah, finally,” he remarked. He’d become so skinny during his convalescence that he could count each of his ribs with his fingertips. Echo sat down in the chair next to him and frowned at the floor a moment, not saying anything. Bellamy swallowed and asked, “What’s happened?”  
  
“I have been asking around in the village, as you suggested,” she told him. “I have learned something that may upset you.”  
  
Bellamy set down his bowl of stew. “She’s been gone for how long how?” he asked softly. “I’m already upset. Just tell me.”  
  
“Your sister was betrayed by the people here.”  
  
“Betrayed?” he repeated, feeling himself pale a little. “What does that mean?”  
  
“Mount Weather issued a bounty for all Sky People,” she explained gently. “Octavia may look _Trikru_ from a distance, but people quickly determined her true origins, and they alerted bounty hunters who operate in this region.”  
  
“But Mount Weather is _gone,”_ he protested. “There’s no one in there for them to sell her to anymore.”  
  
Echo hesitated. “That is correct,” she said. “But we are far from Mount Weather, and I don’t know that news of its fall has reached this village.”  
  
“But then who has her? What would they do with her if they couldn’t take her to Mount Weather?”  
  
She shook her head. “I do not know the answer to that.”  
  
He felt his fear erupt into anger and he banged his fist on the arm of his chair. “Dammit, then we need to find out!”  
  
Echo glared at him. “I have discovered what I could. I had to be delicate- if it is determined that you are also a Sky Person, you may be betrayed in the same manner as Octavia. That is, if you have not already. We should leave this village as soon as possible.”  
  
“And let them get _away_ with this?” he snapped. “They sold her out… they deserve to be punished.”  
  
“And is this _punishment_ more important than finding your sister?” she growled, causing Bellamy to wince. “The people here are poor,” she continued, her voice soft. “Many people do not trade with the Plains Clan because they are seen as pariahs. Their children are more likely to be born deformed, and this causes them to be stigmatized among the clans. The soil of their lands is close to dead and they can grow very little. They must make a living how they can, and they have no loyalty to your sister, or to your people. It is doubtful they even know the entirety of what Mount Weather would have done to her.”  
  
“Then we have to find the bounty hunters,” Bellamy said. “We have to know where they took her. Do you have _any_ idea?”  
  
She hesitated, and then she said finally, “I do not wish to speculate.”  
  
He gritted his teeth. “Speculate anyway.”  
  
Echo let out a long breath. “There are many who could find value in a Sky Person,” she said. “Some may wish to trade her to your people for technology… there are slavers who may wish to take her as a prize…” She frowned thoughtfully. “I assume she is not a virgin?”  
  
Bellamy closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands. “God… we have to find her. We _have_ to.” Echo reached out and touched his forearm, but he jerked away from her. He stood up, pacing to one wall and then back again. “I can’t just sit here anymore.”  
  
“I will continue to ask around, try to determine where she may have gone and who might have her,” Echo promised. “But you must be patient.”  
  
“Goddammit, I can’t be _patient!”_ he exploded. “Not with everything you just said.”  
  
Echo glared at him. “As I said,” she told him firmly. “I did not wish to speculate. _You_ forced those words from my lips.”  
  
Bellamy opened his mouth to retort something, but before he could do so the door of the hut burst open, distracting both of them from their argument. A man stood there, backlit from the sunlight outside, leaning heavily on one side of the doorframe. His face and chest were so caked with dried blood that Bellamy didn’t immediately recognise him, and his chest heaved with every breath.  
  
Echo rushed forward to take the man’s weight onto her shoulder and help him stagger over to the pallet that had recently belonged to Bellamy, and eased him down onto it. Only then did Bellamy realise who he was looking at.  
  
“Lincoln!” he called urgently as he hurried to the pallet. “Lincoln, where’s O?” He grabbed the older man by the shoulders and gave him a shake. “Where is she?”  
  
_“Stop!”_ Echo said, shoving Bellamy so hard he fell backward. “Leave him be.” She took a cup of water and held it to Lincoln’s lips, but he couldn’t even drink, and she was only able to wet his lips.  
  
“Bellamy,” he whispered, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. “I’m sorry…”  
  
Quickly going back to Lincoln’s side, Bellamy felt his heart pounding in his chest, that sick feeling of dread rising in his stomach as he whispered, “Where is she?”  
  
“The mountain,” Lincoln managed. “The mountain has her.”  
  
Bellamy frowned. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked Echo. “Is he confused?”  
  
“Quite likely,” she answered in a half-growl. “You must let him breathe for a moment before you interrogate him.”  
  
“Lincoln, what are you talking about?” Bellamy asked, ignoring Echo’s request. He tried to catch Lincoln’s eyes, and he could see how unfocused they were. “Mount Weather is gone, remember? Where is Octavia?”  
  
Lincoln shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “No, not Mount Weather… the bounty hunters took her somewhere else… another mountain.”  
  
Bellamy’s eyes widened as he looked at Echo, and he saw a matching expression of horror her face. Both of them knew exactly what kind of torture Octavia must be facing if there really was another mountain.  
  
“Where is it?” he asked urgently. “Where is she?”  
  
“The… mountain…” His eyelids fluttered as he struggled to stay conscious.  
  
Bellamy grabbed Lincoln once more and once more Echo pushed him off. She slapped him hard across the face to stop him from trying again. “He has lost a lot of blood and he is very weak,” she said. “If you continue to push, he may die, and then we will never find your sister. Celebrate the fact that Octavia is alive, and be patient for what will follow. Go and get Lala now. She’s in the garden.”  
  
“Echo-”  
  
_“Now,_ Bellamy!” she yelled, almost spitting with fury. Despite his terror for Octavia, her wrath got him moving and he stumbled to his feet and out of the hut to fetch the healer, who rushed back inside to help them.

It was only when the three of them started working on Lincoln that Bellamy began to appreciate just how seriously he was wounded. They stripped him down and his dark skin was mottled with even darker bruises, head to toe. Lala pointed out sites of internal bleeding, and carefully ran fingertips across his bones and identified six broken ribs and a fractured collarbone. He had also been stabbed, but only by some miracle had the blade managed to miss his organs.

Once his ribs were bound, his stab wound stitched, and his shoulder stabilised, Lala went to sleep and Echo sat down heavily in her chair. Bellamy watched Lincoln carefully, noticing how hard he seemed to be working for every breath.

"He has been given medicine to keep him asleep," Echo spoke up, her voice filled with tension. "If he lives for the next two days, he will survive this."

Bellamy sat down on his own chair and looked at her. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, not knowing what to say.

"You behaved appallingly today," Echo said after an uncomfortable silence. She wouldn't look at him; she only glared into the fire for a long time before shaking her head. "I am disappointed in you." She stood up abruptly and left the hut.

He felt a surge of anger, but it was followed quickly with shame. His eyes trailed to Lincoln and he thought of how he had helped Octavia to take Lincoln alive when he'd been a Reaper, how strongly he'd wanted to save the man's life. But even then it hadn't been because of Lincoln, but because of Octavia's attachment to him- he'd known then how much it would have destroyed her to lose this man that she loved, so he had thrown his weight behind trying to save him.

But now, when it came to Octavia being in danger, he knew he would have shaken Lincoln until he died if it would have gotten the information out of him- if Echo had let him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the shame and guilt that rose up to engulf him, imagining what Octavia would think of him now.

Kneeling down next to Lincoln, he dipped a cloth in cool water and laid it across the man's forehead, remembering how good that had felt when he himself had been bedridden. "Hey," he said softly, not even sure whether Lincoln would be able to hear him. "Remember when I was pissed at you for abandoning me to do drugs?" He let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah… we're even now."

He watched Lincoln's face for a while, seeing his forehead twitching as he fought hard to stay alive, and then he got up and went to his chair. The guilt made it hard to sleep, but eventually exhaustion won and he drifted off.

 


	23. 23- Octavia

It took a while for Moira to convince her to sit down again, and even when she did, Octavia was tense and hostile. She gripped the fork in her hand and ate nothing, using all her concentration to heave large breaths of anger.  
  
“Please,” Moira said gently, watching her. “I mean you no harm.”  
  
“Yeah, you keep saying that,” Octavia snapped, turning blue eyes like steel on the redhead. “But if that was true, I wouldn’t be your prisoner.”  
  
“You’re not my prisoner,” Moira protested. She seemed genuinely hurt, or at least good at pretending. “You’re a guest.”  
  
Octavia continued to glare at her. “Guests can leave,” she said evenly.  
  
With a soft sigh, Moira stayed silent for a moment before saying, quietly, “I understand your feelings, Octavia. But-”  
  
“Yeah right,” she interrupted.  
  
Moira tried a different tactic. “Your friend Lincoln… is he also a Sky Person?”  
  
“No,” she said, her voice soft as she thought of him. “He’s _Trikru.”_  
  
At that, Moira seemed to brighten significantly. “What village is he from?”  
  
She frowned, trying to work out whether the woman might have ulterior motives for asking, but she couldn’t think of any. “TonDC,” she said carefully.  
  
“Oh yes,” the older woman answered, her voice full of sympathy. “I heard about the missile… I’m so sorry. I have family in Lingto, not far from tonDC.”  
  
Octavia wasn’t sure what to question first so she just asked everything, “How did you hear about the missile? What family? Have you been to tonDC?”  
  
Moira smiled softly. “I’ve never had the pleasure,” she said gently. “I’m sorry to say I have never set foot outside this mountain… unlike you, we can’t survive the radiation.”  
  
So, they _were_ like the mountain men back in the forest. Octavia wondered what else they had in common- where was _their_ harvest chamber?  
  
“What about the missile?” she asked.  
  
“We were in contact with Mount Weather until they went radio silent,” she explained. “President Wallace- _Cage_ Wallace- told us he planned to use it.”  
  
“And you did nothing,” Octavia said, grimacing. Moira and Clarke had one thing in common.  
  
Moira let out a sigh. “Raven Rock may appear close to Mount Weather on a map, but believe me Octavia, it’s far away.”  
  
“I’ve never seen a map.”  
  
“Well. It would have been no small feat for us to have sent help in time, even if we’d wanted to.”  
  
“So you _didn’t_ want to,” Octavia pressed.  
  
The older woman frowned at her. “You’re clearly a very strong-willed girl,” she said, her patience seeming to wear thin. “Do you enjoy being so stubborn?”  
  
“What I _enjoy_ is being outside, with my family, holding my sword,” she said honestly, naming her three favourite things.  
  
“Yes, your brother… Bellamy, right? You said he was sick?”  
  
“Yeah, and that’s why I have to get out of here.” Octavia said nothing else, gave no further details. Bellamy was hers; she wouldn’t share him with this woman.  
  
“You can’t go out,” Moira answered, firm.  
  
“You keep saying that, but I don’t know what it means,” Octavia answered. “The doors obviously open, and I don’t have to worry about radiation, so let me go.”  
  
“It’s not that I _can’t_ let you go,” Moira explained bluntly. “It’s that I _won’t.”_  
  
“But why?” Octavia asked, her face falling as her anger crumbled and gave way to fear. “Why won’t you? If you’re going to steal my blood, just get it over with.”  
  
Moira shook her head. “No, that’s not what I want at all,” she said gently. “I told you, we aren’t like Mount Weather. We don’t participate in the harvest program.”  
  
“But you need outside blood to survive, right?” Octavia asked suspiciously, not buying it.  
  
“Yes, that’s right,” Moira agreed. “But we use what’s donated to us. There’s no need to force people into cages.”  
  
“Who donates it?”  
  
“Well, people like my husband,” she answered, and she smiled softly. “You assume so much about us, Octavia, and I understand why, but if you would just give me the benefit of the doubt for a short time, I could show you so much. I know I could change your mind about us.”  
  
“Your husband… he’s _Trikru?”_ she asked, avoiding having to commit either way to her request. “How did you two even meet?”  
  
“He was brought here, by slavers.”  
  
Octavia stiffened. “What?”  
  
“How much do you know about the Plains Clan?”  
  
She shook her head and admitted, “Nothing. Lincoln said not a lot is known about them. Which I guess is why he didn’t know about you… this place.”  
  
Moira nodded. “When the war happened, and the bombs were dropped, there were some places harder hit than others,” she explained. “The landscape of this place used to be very different, but now it’s little more than a dust bowl. It’s hard to grow crops, and the radiation is much more severe. People have had to resort to some less scrupulous ways of making a living- like the bounty hunters who brought you here, and the slavers who captured my husband.”  
  
“So you _bought_ him?” Octavia asked.  
  
“No, no,” Moira assured her with a small smile. “We liberated him. And in exchange, he stayed here for the rest of his life.”  
  
“In exchange?” Octavia shook her head. “No, you’re saying you took him as a prisoner. You saved him from the slavers only to force him to stay here out of some sense of debt.”  
  
“Octavia,” Moira said softly. “Things aren’t always as simple as you might like to think. I know you’re young, but you’re oversimplifying things. Why don’t you have breakfast with my family? I’ll introduce you to my husband and our children, and you can ask him these questions yourself.”  
  
“So is that why you speak Trigedasleng?” Octavia asked, again avoiding agreeing or disagreeing to anything.  
  
“Yes, that’s right,” Moira said with a nod. “And the reason why you hear all our messages in both languages is because the goal of Raven Rock is integration, not destruction. The more children who inherit the genes to filter out the radiation, the better off we’ll be. It’s our fastest road to freedom… well, other than your bone marrow, I suppose.”  
  
“So you know about that,” Octavia said, her heart sinking.  
  
“Yes, Mount Weather did share some information about your people with us,” Moira said. “But don’t worry, Octavia, we _aren’t_ like them. We don’t plan to hunt your friends down and steal their marrow. If anyone wanted to donate it to us, we’d accept it gratefully, but that’s all.” But despite saying that was all, she seemed to hesitate for a moment, as though she was considering saying more.  
  
“What?” Octavia asked, immediately suspicious.  
  
“Nothing, it’s just… something strange, in your medical file. The doctors told me about it earlier, and this conversation just reminded me.”  
  
“Strange how?” Octavia asked, trying not to show concern. “Am I sick?”  
  
“No, nothing like that,” Moira assured her. “When Doctor Tsing sent over some of the files she’d prepared on her subjects- I’m sorry, that’s the medical term- they had an outstanding ability to process the radiation in the air.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Octavia said. “That’s why they wanted to kill us all. And why they _did_ kill a few of us.”  
  
Moira shook her head. “No, I know, but that’s not what I was going to say. Octavia, when you came into Raven Rock and we had to look after you, we ran similar tests on you to the ones Mount Weather ran on your friends. But _your_ ability to filter the radiation is better than any of theirs. You stand head and shoulders above the other Sky People, and I have no idea why.”  
  
The idea was deeply unsettling to Octavia. Of course Mount Weather had never got their hands on her, but if they had… she hated to think what might have happened if they’d discovered what Moira was telling her now.  
  
“Is there anything that makes you different than everyone else?” the older woman asked her curiously.  
  
Octavia couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, but nothing that would explain what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Please,” Moira urged her. “You never know- it might help.”  
  
Hesitating for a few moments, Octavia finally said, “There was a one child policy on the Ark. I was the second, so my mother hid me.”  
  
With a thoughtful frown, Moira shook her head slowly. “No, you’re right… that’s interesting, but it doesn’t explain why you’d be better at filtering radiation.”  
  
She shrugged. “I spent a lot of time under the floor, if that matters.”  
  
“Maybe the containment system was a bit weaker there, but no,” Moira said. “No, it wouldn’t be significant enough to explain this.” She brightened a little. “I’d love to get your brother here. Since you’re related, it would be interesting to see whether your uniqueness exists in him as well.”  
  
Octavia glared at her. “What, bring him here so _he_ can be your prisoner too?”  
  
Moira cringed, the smile dropping from her face. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just the scientist in me… I enjoy quirks of nature and intriguing differences between people. I didn’t mean to trivialise how you feel about being here. I do understand. Really.” She reached out a hand, but Octavia jerked to her feet before Moira could touch her.  
  
She paced to the door, remembered it was locked, and paced back, sitting down again. “I can’t stay here,” she said. “I’m claustrophobic, because of how I grew up. I need to be outside.”  
  
“There are many people here who can help you with that,” Moira said, her voice kind. “People trained to listen.”  
  
“I don’t need a shrink,” Octavia snapped, thinking of her own experience on the Ark- Doctor Santos, spending months trying to brainwash her into thinking she shouldn’t want or need her brother. She shook away the thought, glaring at Moira. “I need to make sure Bellamy’s okay.”  
  
“I can send a team to go look for him, bring him here, and make sure he’s alive and well, but that’s it,” Moira said firmly.  
  
“No!” Octavia snapped. “No, don’t you _dare._ You leave him alone.”  
  
“As you wish.” Moira went back to her meal, and then soon Octavia did as well. A long and charged silence grew between them as they ate together.  
  
Octavia tried to order her thoughts. She decided that Lincoln was alive. That Bellamy was alive. That they had found each other and they were looking for her. She didn’t know how much Lincoln had seen of her capture, since he might have been knocked unconscious when the horse fell, but even if he knew absolutely nothing, he would at least remember the bounty hunters on the trail. He was a resourceful man- he could track her down. And Bellamy would be beside himself with worry and insist they start looking for her immediately. So they were on their way- definitely on their way.  
  
Suddenly she thought of Clarke; Clarke who was a prisoner of the Ice Nation, Clarke who was in clear and imminent danger, Clarke who was what had brought them here in the first place. Would they leave her, and go for Clarke instead? Would Echo convince the men to continue north?  
  
No. Bellamy would _never_ abandon her- of this she was sure. And neither would Lincoln. So even if- as the back of her mind whispered fearfully- even _if_ one of them was dead, the other would plant their feet so hard in the earth that nothing could drag them from this place. Not until they had her back.  
  
So Octavia knew that they were definitely coming for her. She just had to be ready to go when they arrived.


	24. 24- Clarke

_Clarke_  
  
  
Once they had made their alliance, things between Elody and Clarke changed even more. Elody began to invite Clarke not just for breakfast, but also for all her meals, and even had her sit next to her when she was performing her various duties. They spent an entire afternoon hearing complaints and reports from Ice Nation citizens, and at dinner afterward Elody seemed genuinely interested to hear Clarke’s opinion on what should be done about the various grievances they had heard. At night Clarke was still locked into her chamber, and by day she was never left alone, but otherwise she felt less like a prisoner and more like a guest.  
  
That night Elody said to her, “I have done as you asked. There is a messenger en route to speak to your friend Bellamy.”  
  
“How long will that take?” Clarke asked. They were having a delicious feast, and she was enjoying it whole-heartedly. Since the torture had stopped and her appetite had returned, Clarke had a new appreciating for just how talented the queen’s chefs really were.  
  
“It will not be long,” the queen answered, surprising her. “It was done via radio.”  
  
Clarke paused, setting down her fork. “Radio?”  
  
“That’s right,” Elody said with a nod.  
  
“You have a radio,” Clarke said, hardly believing it.  
  
The queen smiled in amusement. “How do you think we communicate with the mountain network?”  
  
Clarke saw her chance. It had been weeks since Elody had brought up this particular subject, and Clarke hadn’t wanted to raise it herself, not wanting to reveal how interested she was in the topic. She picked up her fork again, taking a bite, chewing thoughtfully, knowing it was important that she tread lightly.  
  
“I guess I didn’t think about it,” she said carefully. “I didn’t realise you needed to be in such close communication with the mountains.”  
  
“Oh yes,” Elody said with a nod. “Our trade agreements rely on it. The mountains are far from our territory, so without long-range communications it would be most impractical.”  
  
“Trade agreements?” Clarke asked, trying not to seem too interested. She kept eating, slowly.  
  
“As you know,” the queen explained patiently, “the Ice Nation are skilled herbalists. It is a specialty of ours, and one the mountains have come to rely on. What is the word they use to describe our goods? Oh yes… pharmaceuticals.”  
  
Clarke froze. “Pharmaceuticals?”  
  
“Yes, that’s right,” she said with a nod. “Mount Weather in particular relied heavily on our products for their day-to-day operations.” She frowned. “Of course, that is no longer the case.”  
  
Clarke’s heart was beating fast. “So you manufacture drugs? Things like medicines, pain relievers, anesthetics?”  
  
“Yes,” Elody said with a nod.  
  
Clarke knew how much it would mean for her people to have a steady supply of such things. “What about antibiotics?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” the queen said with a shrug. “Not to mention paralytics, Red, poisons, spiritual preparations, recreational drugs…”  
  
“Red?” Clarke repeated, taken aback. _“You_ make Red?”  
  
“Well, _I_ don’t,” Elody said, seeming amused. “But yes, Red is manufactured by the Ice Nation. It is a powerful drug of control.”  
  
It made sense, knowing what she did about this place, that the Ice Nation would be the mastermind behind such a terrible drug, but Clarke was still shocked. She had assumed that, with the destruction of Mount Weather, all the Red was gone... she knew Lincoln and Octavia thought that too. Having seen its horrible affects firsthand, it didn’t comfort her to know there was more being manufactured.  
  
“How do you have these agreements with the mountains when Mount Weather was an enemy to your own alliance?” she asked.  
  
Elody’s lip curled a little. “Mount Weather is an enemy of those who live within its clutches,” she said. “Our trade agreements predate our _temporary_ alliance with _Leksa kom Trikru,_ and were not her business. She has never known of our dealings with them.”  
  
Clarke took another bite of her dinner and chewed thoughtfully. She sensed the edge to Elody’s voice and didn’t want to upset her so she pulled back a little into safer territory and said, “Mount Weather used Red to create the Reapers. Do the other mountains use it for the same thing?”  
  
“You will have to ask them,” Elody answered shortly, and Clarke could sense that she’d reached the end of the queen’s patience on this subject. The woman continued, “I have decided not to kill you. We are allies now. But if you double-cross me, or if I have reason to doubt your sincerity within this alliance, I will sell your bone marrow to the highest bidder.”  
  
She said it so casually, like she wasn’t describing a process that would mean certain death for her, but Clarke knew that she knew that was the case.  
  
“I won’t betray your trust,” she promised.  
  
“Then do not be rude,” Elody answered evenly. “Do not ask questions whose answers don’t concern you.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Clarke said. She dropped the subject, despite the fact that she wanted to know so much more, and instead asked, “Will Bellamy be able to communicate back to me, once your messenger talks to him?” As soon as she said it she felt an ache, remembering their radio communication when he was inside Mount Weather; she wished so much she could have that again now. Even just to hear his voice would make her feel so much better.  
  
“Unless he is invited into one of the mountains, then no,” Elody said, shaking her head. “And considering what you have told me, I doubt very much that that will happen.”  
  
Clarke nodded. “No, you’re right. He wouldn’t go near them.”  
  
“You care about Bellamy,” Elody said- a statement, not a question- and there was Lexa’s voice coming back to her from all those weeks ago, her blue eyes full of something Clarke had not yet understood as she’d said, _You care about him, don’t you? You worry about him more._  
  
Letting out a sigh, Clarke nodded. “Yes. I do.”  
  
“Perhaps he will visit you here, once he knows that you are safe within my walls,” the queen said, her voice conversational- but Clarke couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what Elody _wanted._ Did she want Bellamy to come here, so she would have two prisoners? She had described him as her second-in-command… did Elody want both of them, thinking it might give her more leverage?  
  
“Maybe,” Clarke said carefully. “I hope so.” But what she actually hoped, in that moment, was that Bellamy would stay away. As much as she wanted to see him, she couldn’t believe that Elody’s interest was benign. They may have forged a tentative alliance, but that didn’t mean she trusted the queen anymore than she trusted Lexa. Neither had proven themselves to be honourable.  
  
That evening, when Clarke was locked back up in her quarters, she waited until the footsteps of her guard faded away and then she crept to the hearth, gritting her teeth as she knelt beside the fire and reached her arm up into the chimney, ignoring the heat as her fingers felt for the now-familiar loose brick she had found days before.  
  
She pulled it loose and sat down on the floor, turning it over to reveal the hollowed-out centre of the brick. Inside was a rolled up bit of paper. Clarke unrolled it, and using charcoal from the fire, she wrote in shorthand all the things she had learned at dinner- the trade agreements, the mountains, and the radio. Anything that was useful, she kept track. It wasn’t that she was afraid she’d forget, but if she wrote it down then it seemed more real. It seemed possible that she was safer than she really was, that she had insurance. She hoped the alliance with Elody was all that it seemed it could be, all that the queen promised. She hoped that she would be able to negotiate trade for the precious medicines the Ice Nation could provide. But if that wasn’t meant to be, if Elody’s cruel face came back, then she had to be ready. She had to have some kind of ammunition.  
  
She heard footsteps outside and quickly shoved the bit of paper back into the brick, reaching up into the fire to replace the brick in the inside of the chimney, withdrawing her arm again just as the bolt slid loose from the door. She held her hands over the fire as if warming herself.  
  
“Clarke,” it was Yana, the girl Elody had introduced to her the day their truce had been struck. After that day, Yana had been made Clarke’s personal attendant, and she saw the girl daily. Several others accompanied Yana, all carrying boiling pitchers of water, which they poured into Clarke’s bathtub. She had gotten used to this ritual, and actually looked forward to her nightly bath. It was a luxury she hadn’t had at the dropship, or Camp Jaha, or even the Ark.  
  
Once the tub was full and the oils and fragrances had been added, the room grew cosy and sweet smelling. Everyone but Yana left, bolting both girls in the room together, and Clarke undressed without shyness, used to this now. Yana averted her eyes but otherwise made no notice of Clarke’s nakedness, and as she slid down into the hot water, she couldn’t help but let out a long breath of contentment as her tension melted away.  
  
Yana stood behind her, gathering up her long blonde hair and starting to brush it through with her fingers, washing it carefully. Clarke’s eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of being cared for, something she hadn’t enjoyed since she was a child. Sometimes she imagined Yana’s hands as her mother’s.  
  
The two girls got on well and Clarke mostly looked forward to their evenings together. There had been an initial adjustment period, and not only because there was a consistent boundary of _heda_ and servant girl that prevented true friendship. The first evening that Yana had come to tend to her, the girl had reached under the bathwater and attempted to touch Clarke in a way that was most unwelcome. Clarke had jumped about a mile, but then explained to the girl that she was not to do that again- that they could be friends and nothing more.  
  
Clarke never dared to ask exactly what instructions Elody had given to Yana before sending her in that first time, but afterward the pair of them settled into a pleasant routine.  
  
“Did you and the queen have a nice day?” Yana asked her now, breaking through Clarke’s thoughts. The girl’s fingers running through her hair was always so soothing that Clarke often fell asleep during this part, and Yana had to wake her to avoid drowning her. But she always seemed amused by it, never annoyed.  
  
“We did,” Clarke answered with a nod. She brought her palm up to catch one of the flowers on the surface of the water and brought it to her nose, inhaling it, before letting it float away again.  
  
“You are lucky to win her favour,” Yana said.  
  
Clarke wasn’t sure if the girl knew just _how_ lucky, but she only nodded her head. “I am. This alliance is very important to me.” She wasn’t stupid, and knew that Yana was sure to report back to the queen regularly, so she never said anything that she wouldn’t want to Elody to hear about later. “And you’re lucky as well.”  
  
Yana’s grin was big. “I am,” she agreed enthusiastically.  
  
Clarke leaned her head back and smiled at the girl. Looking at her from this perspective, with that big smile on her face, it was easy to see that Yana had a nice personality, and was even pretty in her own way. She had a round face, reddish brown skin, and dark brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled. But her best feature were her hands- whether they were combing Clarke’s hair, massaging the knots from her shoulders, mixing tinctures for her bathwater, or building up her fire, her hands were always working and always produced something Clarke could enjoy.  
  
She had asked her how old she was, but the way Grounders seemed to count time was different, and maybe she didn’t really know when she was born, but Clarke was fairly certain she was about fourteen. She knew she’d already been here two years, and she couldn’t help but think of the girl’s family so far away- would they even recognise her now? Would they ever see each other again? How could they let their daughter go to such a frightening place as this? But then she remembered Tris, that little girl who had been on the bridge, even younger than Yana, Anya’s second and not even a woman yet, and she knew that Yana’s situation wasn’t unique. It was a brutal world.  
  
After her bath Clarke allowed herself to be dressed and sat in front of the fire, where Yana worked through the tangles in her hair with a wooden comb dipped in fragrant oil. “Is it true that where you come from, you are still considered a child?” she asked curiously.  
  
“It is,” Clarke agreed, smiling a little as she imagined her mother, that smile fading into a sigh as she thought about how Abby wanted her to still be a little girl, and how impossible that was- not after all she’d been through, seen and done.  
  
Yana giggled a little. “But you are so old,” she protested. “You could be a mother by now, or at least have a man or woman of your own. I suppose being the _Skaikruheda_ has made you too busy for such things.”  
  
Clarke laughed softly and shook her head. “Where I come from, people my age aren’t considered _old,_ we rarely have children, and we’re _never_ married.”  
  
“This place you come from- the Ark? It is very strange.”  
  
“You can say that again,” Clarke said dryly. Yana’s deft hands combing her hair together with the warm fire and suppleness of her skin from the bath, Clarke felt coddled and snug, and she could barely keep her eyes open. She let out a wistful sigh and said, “I don’t think of the Ark as home. Not anymore.”  
  
“Where is your home, then?” Yana asked gently. “I know it is not here. Not yet.”  
  
Clarke couldn’t ever imagine a day when the Ice Nation would be home, but she held her tongue and just said, “I guess for me, home stopped being a place when I came to Earth. It’s more about people now.”  
  
“So who is your home?” Yana asked. “Bellamy?”  
  
Clarke had never spoken his name to the girl, so she knew that came from Elody, but she didn’t really mind. “Yeah,” she said, picturing his face, his curls, his strong arms wrapped around her in a hug, the sincerity in his brown eyes. “Yeah, Bellamy is home… and so is his sister, Octavia… Raven, Jasper, and Monty… Monroe, Harper, and Miller… even the people who died. Everyone I’ve been with since I came down here- they’re home for me.”  
  
“It must have been very difficult to leave them behind,” Yana said gently, perhaps sensing the grief that had filled Clarke’s voice.  
  
She blinked away tears and shook her head. “No, that’s the problem,” she said. “It wasn’t. Walking away was easier than staying, so I left. I wish I hadn’t.”  
  
“Please don't cry, Clarke,” Yana said, coming around to the front of her and taking her hand. “I did not mean to upset you.”  
  
Clarke hadn’t realised she was crying until the girl brought it up, but she was- tears were streaming down her cheeks as she thought about her home, the people she’d left behind, the pointlessness of it all. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice catching.  
  
Yana hugged her tightly and Clarke couldn’t help but hug her back. The girl seemed content just to hold her for as long as she needed, and Clarke didn’t let go until she had calmed down.  
  
“Sometimes we have to travel far away to realise where it is that we belong,” Yana said softly, stroking Clarke’s cheek with her palm. “That doesn’t make the journey futile.”  
  
Clarke nodded and internally she had to marvel yet again at the wisdom of Grounders. She couldn’t help but think of Lexa, so young in age, but yet when she spoke or even looked at you, there was no questioning that she was a leader. Belatedly she realised that some people would say the same thing about _her-_ all that talk of her being the _wanheda_ proved that.  
  
Still, she knew that what Yana was saying was true. But even if it wasn’t futile, she knew this journey would still be full of perils, and she had no guarantee that she would ever see home again.


	25. 25- Bellamy

_Bellamy_  
  
Lincoln slept all night and into the next day, his breathing coming thick and laboured. Echo had decided to stop talking to Bellamy, so she was now speaking exclusively in Trigedasleng with Lala, which excluded him from most conversations.  
  
Lala seemed more willing to communicate with him, which was ironic because he couldn’t understand almost anything she said. So Bellamy spent the time sitting against the wall and staring at Lincoln, willing him to wake up and tell him where Octavia was.  
  
Near sunset, he got his wish. The women were chatting softly near the fireplace as they mixed together medicinal herbs, Lala instructing Echo on their preparation, while Bellamy sat near Lincoln. Belatedly, he realised the man’s eyes were open, and he quickly moved to his side.  
  
He restrained himself from immediately interrogating him, remembering Echo’s reprimand, and instead grabbed the cup of water that was nearby and helped Lincoln to sit up, tilting the cup to his lips. Lincoln drank just a little before his eyelids fluttered and Bellamy eased him back down.  
  
“Do you need anything?” he asked him quietly.  
  
Lincoln licked his lips and his brown eyes struggled to focus. “Octavia?” he asked, his voice so quiet Bellamy had to lean in close.  
  
“She’s not here,” he answered softly. “You said she was inside a mountain?”  
  
His eyes widened as he seemed to suddenly remember everything, and he grabbed Bellamy’s arm urgently. “The mountain… the bounty hunters…” He struggled to sit up but Bellamy tried to calm him.  
  
“Hey, just rest,” he urged him. He glanced over at the women, hoping they wouldn’t have heard, but Echo was already stalking over.  
  
She knelt next to Lincoln and took his head into her lap, picking up the same cup Bellamy had just offered. Again Lincoln took a tiny sip, but he couldn’t seem to drink anything more than that. Gently she said, “Rest now.”  
  
“I can’t rest,” he answered, shaking his head. His voice was weak but determined. “Not when Octavia is in danger.”  
  
Echo let out a frustrated breath and set Lincoln’s head back on the pallet. “You are both as bad as each other,” she said, tossing a glare in Bellamy’s direction.  
  
“Lincoln,” Bellamy urged. “Where is she?” Echo gave him a sharp look, but she didn’t protest.  
  
“We were here,” he said, his eyes looking around the hut for the first time. “We got the leechdom for your wound… we traded a horse for it. We took the other horse and we went up the mountain to come back to you, but we were ambushed by bounty hunters.”  
  
“Someone in the village betrayed you,” Bellamy said, his voice angry. “They told them you were here, that O was a Sky Person.”  
  
Lincoln nodded. “They were waiting at the top of the mountain for us,” he said. “We tried to run, but they shot at us. At least one arrow hit Octavia.”  
  
Bellamy paled and swallowed hard. “And then?”  
  
“They took out the horse… it fell, and she went down the mountainside. But she was alive- I saw her moving. Then they stabbed me, knocked me out, and left me for dead.” Lincoln stopped talking, breathing deeply, his energy fading quickly.  
  
“Rest,” Echo urged him. Bellamy wanted to snap at her and tell her to go away and leave them to talk, but he held his tongue.  
  
Lincoln shook his head. His eyes were on Bellamy’s as he continued, “When I woke up I tracked the bounty hunters. They were on horseback and I was on foot, so I only found them after they’d already delivered Octavia to the mountain.”  
  
“Okay, and where is that?” Bellamy pressed.  
  
“West along the ridge for a day… then turn southwest for another two days. Descend to the valley, and go through the forest until you come to a river… follow it south until it forks, then continue west. Another half day will take you to an old barrier… a fence, long decayed. The doors to the mountain aren’t far beyond there, but I ran into the bounty hunters before I reached it. It’ll be faster on horseback.”  
  
“And when you came upon them, what happened?” Echo asked, becoming interested in the story now.  
  
“We fought… I killed three of them, but one escaped. I was beaten badly, and still had my stab wound, so I passed out again. When I came to I was alone… I tried to get inside the mountain, to find Octavia, but there was no way to breach the entrance.” His eyes met Bellamy’s. “It was like Mount Weather all over again.”  
  
“They’ve had her for days,” Bellamy said with a groan. “They’ll be harvesting her already.” It made him sick, to think of his sister held upside down and bled like what had happened to him, or worse- drilled and murdered for her bone marrow like Fox. “We have to go back there… we have to get her out.”  
  
“And how would we do that?” Echo asked, the first thing she’d said to him in a long time. But instead of being angry, her voice was gentle. “Lincoln tested the doors, and they are strong.”  
  
Bellamy paced for a moment, then he returned to Lincoln’s side. “So we do it like we did at Mount Weather,” he said. “I’ll go in alone.”  
  
Lincoln shook his head. “With Mount Weather we knew our enemy. We understood their strengths and we could exploit their weaknesses. We know nothing about this new mountain.”  
  
“What’s to know?” Bellamy asked, agitated. “They must be the same as Mount Weather. Why else would the bounty hunters have taken her there? And if they didn’t want to harvest her, why would the mountain have accepted her at all? They know she’s a Sky Person.”  
  
Echo touched Bellamy’s arm lightly. “Lincoln is right- we do not have enough information. If we assume things which may be untrue, we risk jeopardising your sister further.”  
  
“Oh, so you want to _help_ now?” he snapped, pulling away from her.  
  
Echo’s eyes darkened. “Do not speak to me like that,” she growled. “I have been helping you since we met in those cages and I have never wavered from that.”  
  
Bellamy let out a long breath and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm his temper. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “We just… we have to get her out of there.”  
  
“And that is our plan,” she assured him. “But we can either learn what we need to learn and go in with a high chance of success, or we can rush to action and die in the process. Which would you prefer?”  
  
Bellamy looked at Lincoln. “They’re already hurting her,” he said softly. “They must be. Why would they wait?”  
  
“We don’t know enough,” Lincoln said, shaking his head. “We should talk to the people who live in the lands that surround this mountain. _Trikru_ knows Mount Weather best because we grow up in its shadow. It’ll be the same here.”  
  
“Fine, then let’s do that,” Bellamy said impatiently, looking to Echo. “Let’s go talk to them. We know where she is, we have Lincoln’s directions to the mountain… let’s just find whatever villages are nearby and figure it out.”  
  
Echo looked at Lincoln and a complicated series of looks passed between them before she spoke again. “You are a Sky Person,” she said, her voice gentle. “It is likely they will not speak to you or answer any questions… even we are outsiders here. They may not be willing to share their knowledge with any of us.”  
  
“But we can try,” Bellamy said. He looked to Lincoln. “We have to _try.”_  
  
The older man nodded. “He’s right,” he said to Echo. “We need to move quickly. She’s running out of time.” The fact that it could have run out already was left unspoken.  
  
“Can you walk?” Echo asked him.  
  
Lincoln nodded his head, and very slowly he rose to his feet. It took a while, but once he was standing he wobbled only a little. His eyes met Bellamy’s. “For Octavia.”  
  
Bellamy nodded his head, relieved and grateful that they were on the same page. “We only have two horses,” he said to Echo.  
  
“I will ride with you,” she said. “And we will go slowly, for Lincoln’s sake.”  
  
He didn’t care about any of that, he just needed to know that they were going, that things were being done. “Great, let’s move.”  
  
Echo shook her head. She stood up and went back to the fire, taking a bowl from Lala and speaking softly in Trigedasleng before returning to the two men. She handed the bowl to Lincoln and said, “Drink this.” Looking to Bellamy she said, “If we are to do this, you _must_ listen to me. Can you manage that?”  
  
“Yeah,” he said, nodding his head. “I promise.”  
  
“A promise is not a thing to be made lightly,” she warned. “Not to me.”  
  
“I know,” he said sincerely, holding her serious brown eyes. “I do- really.”  
  
Echo nodded slowly. “I will prepare some supplies for the journey.” She looked to Lincoln. _“You_ take your medicine.” Then to Bellamy, “And _you_ remember the value of restraint.”  
  
Once she moved away Bellamy looked to Lincoln and he said, “We’re going to get her out of there- we have to.”  
  
Lincoln nodded gravely. “I won’t let her be bled like an animal at the slaughter.”  
  
Bellamy nodded and held his hand out, which Lincoln grasped and shook. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of hope underneath all his fear; united in their love for Octavia, he felt confident that they would bring her home.


	26. 26- Octavia

Standing outside Moira’s quarters, Octavia wasn’t exactly sure why she was so nervous. It would have been nice to say it was only because she had been invited to eat breakfast with her captor, and that was nerve-wracking enough, but it was more than that… she just couldn’t quite pinpoint what.  
  
As soon as the door opened, she realised what it was- she was afraid they would be normal. Happy. And they were. Despite the dark words Moira had spoke, her explanation that her husband had been brought here by slavers, he seemed genuinely at ease in their quarters and happy to meet Octavia.  
  
“My name is Kota,” he said, smiling warmly at her as he clasped her forearm in his hand. “It is good to see someone who has spent so much time in the forests of my youth.” Before he could say anything more, three children attacked Octavia’s legs. The oldest looked about seven, the youngest was only a toddler, and the third was somewhere in the middle. As she had such limited experience with children, she couldn’t guess much more accurately than that.  
  
“Wash up for breakfast,” Moira told the cheerful kids after they had finished greeting both women with great enthusiasm. They hurried off, racing each other to get to the bathroom, and Moira laughed softly. “I’m sorry, they’re always so full of energy,” she said, but the way she smiled after them Octavia knew she was head over heels for each one. It gave her a pang of longing for her own mother.  
  
Kota was smiling at Octavia. “You must have many questions.”  
  
“I do,” she agreed, hardly knowing where to start. Her eyes shifted to Moira for a moment before she said bluntly to him, “I’d like to talk with you alone.”  
  
Moira raised an eyebrow but seemed more amused than offended. “I’ll get started on breakfast,” she said, leaving them alone in the living room as she disappeared into another room, presumably the kitchen.  
  
Kota invited Octavia to sit, which she did. Before he could say anything she asked him, “Are you a prisoner here?”  
  
With a soft smile, he shook his head. “I understand why you’re asking me that, but no. I love my wife and children.”  
  
“But what about your home?” she pressed. “Don’t you love your home?”  
  
“Of course I do,” he agreed with a nod. “But _this_ is my home now. This is where my heart lives, where my babies have been born. Lingto is the home of my childhood and I will always think fondly of it, but I belong to Raven Rock now.”  
  
Octavia shifted with discomfort as she mulled that over, something about it rubbing her the wrong way. “But you were a prisoner when you came here.”  
  
“I was a prisoner _before_ I came here,” he clarified delicately. “I could have stayed outside the mountain and met a much worse fate than the love and acceptance I have found here.”  
  
“Okay, but if you hadn’t been taken by slavers,” she insisted. “If you hadn’t been kidnapped and delivered here, you wouldn’t have _chosen_ to live here.”  
  
He gave her a quizzical look. “And if you had not fallen to Earth, would _you_ have made the choices you have made, met the people you have met, loved the people you now love? Is there a point to wondering ‘what if’?”  
  
Octavia let out a frustrated breath. “You should be allowed to leave,” she said, finding the whole thing deeply disturbing because of her own intimate relationship with imprisonment. “You shouldn’t be locked up in here.”  
  
Kota gave her a gentle smile. “We are _all_ locked up in here,” he reminded her tactfully. “Moira, too, is confined to this place, and you would call her my captor.”  
  
“What about your kids?” Octavia asked, deliberately changing the subject because his comment made her uncomfortable.  
  
He beamed with pride. “My children can survive for short times above ground. That is the goal here, Octavia, and part of the vision that was started by Moira’s mother when she was in charge. By adding the blood of the clans to this place, we ensure that the next generation has a better chance of going outside. Eventually, they will leave this prison behind because of this gift from their ancestors.”  
  
Octavia frowned thoughtfully- she could see what he was saying, but didn’t he realise that what he’d described could be interpreted two ways? Yes, by marrying Moira he had ensured that her children would have a better chance of going outside than they would if they had been born to two parents who were from inside the mountain. But if those children had been born to Grounder parents alone, without the contribution of the Raven Rock gene pool, they wouldn’t have to worry about radiation at all.  
  
“I don’t like it,” she said finally.  
  
“And I can understand that,” he agreed with a nod. “In fact, I was in your shoes too once. But please give us a chance. I did, and I don’t regret it.”  
  
She shook her head. “But I won’t be like you,” she said firmly. “I won’t stay here… I have people on the outside that I love.” She remembered what the bounty hunters had said and added, “I have a man.”  
  
“And he is welcome here,” Kota said delicately. “As is your brother.”  
  
“Yeah,” Octavia said dryly. “If welcome means a one-way ticket and no choice.”  
  
Before they could speak further, the children returned and attacked them good-naturedly, wanting to show Octavia their toys and their drawings. Once they settled down to play, Octavia couldn’t help but watch them with fascination. Their childhood was so different from her own, and yet they were so similar to the way she had been at their age, particularly the oldest girl, who seemed quiet and thoughtful.  
  
  
  
_When Octavia was seven, Bellamy had been thirteen. She often watched the clock on the wall, not necessarily fully grasping the concept of time just yet, but knowing what numbers would signal that he was on his way home from school. She would climb up on the top bunk- his bunk- and cover herself up with the blankets, practically shaking with excitement._  
  
_She would close her eyes and just imagine. First she imagined the classroom, which she saw as a huge room filled floor to ceiling with books, and all the kids sitting on big pillows on the floor in a circle, with an adult sitting in the middle telling stories._  
  
_Next she imagined him leaving school and walking down the corridor. Every window he passed had a beautiful view of Earth, that big glowing ball of green and blue that she dreamed of so often. Some days she imagined him walking with friends, chatting and laughing, though those other kids always seemed to disappear from her daydream as he reached their quarters. Usually, though, she imagined him walking alone, and of course part of her daydream was how excited he was to be coming home to see her- just as excited as she was to have him back._  
  
_When he finally walked in she had usually worked herself into such a state of anticipation that just the sound of the door swinging open made her want to squeal. As always though, she was dead silent. There was no sign of her in the room- no toy gave away her presence, no haphazardly discarded dress laid out to betray the fact that she lived there. She was invisible beneath the blankets, so still and silent that she barely breathed._  
  
_It was only when he closed the door and said, “Just me,” that she could feel safe to launch herself from the bunk and run to him._  
  
_At thirteen Bellamy was gangly and towheaded, but she had no one to compare him to, so he was just her wonderful brother who brought her things and told her stories and made her laugh. At thirteen he sometimes had dark moods and was cultivating a fondness for brooding, but Octavia didn’t know about that because he still had enough control of himself to hide it from her._  
  
_Always when he came home from school he was ready with a story or a game, wanting to teach her what he’d learned that day, tell her about what had happened in class. She drank it all in, just listening, absorbing, learning from his experiences, living vicariously through him._  
  
_Bellamy was nearly double her age then, and probably felt he had very little in common with a seven-year-old girl, but Octavia never felt that she was a chore or even an inconvenience._  
  
_“O, you’ll never guess what happened at lunch today,” he’d say, or, “Did you know that Jupiter has more than_ sixty _moons? I bet you can’t guess when the first four were discovered- over five hundred years ago! That was before there were any space stations, or nukes, or even electricity. The moons are called Europa, Ganymede, Callisto, and Io.”_  
  
_Carrying on from there he might say, “Remember Io, Octavia? Zeus turned her into a beautiful white heifer- that’s a cow- so his wife wouldn’t find out that he was friends with her, since she was jealous. But then Hera figured it out anyway and she asked Zeus to give her the cow as a present, so she could keep an eye on Io and stop her and Zeus from meeting up anymore. Io managed to escape her guard, but eventually Hera sent a fly to sting her over and over until she went crazy! Io had to run away across the sea. But don’t worry, O… when she was there she met a man who was much nicer than Zeus ever was, and the two of them lived happily ever after together and had five babies, and none of them ever had to be hidden.”_  
  
_These stories and tangents would carry them well into the evening, and by the time Aurora got home Bellamy would be ready for a nap. Sometimes Octavia would curl up with him and doze until dinner was ready, and other times she stayed up, helping her mother to cook and chatting with her, relaying everything Bellamy had told her as if they were her own stories. After dinner, she and Bellamy would play games together- he’d give her pony rides, or they’d play hide and seek with their meager furniture, or race each other from one wall to the other, collapsing in a heap of exhaustion by the time they were done. Always Aurora had a smile on her face, as though nothing could make her happier than her two children at play._  
  
  
  
“Octavia,” Moira said, touching her shoulder gently to get her attention, pulling her from her reverie. “Breakfast is ready.”  
  
“Thanks,” Octavia said, standing up. The little girl who had reminded her so much of herself approached her shyly and she handed out a piece of paper, folded carefully in half.  
  
When Octavia opened it, she saw a masterpiece: with careful lines and curves of colour, the girl had constructed an image of Octavia and Moira holding hands, clearly friends, inside the mountain, with the three children and Kota nearby. Octavia knew that was where they were because the girl had drawn it as a huge bubble, filled with rocks and stones and tunnels. On the surface of the bubble, outside where the land was, there were trees and flowers, blue sky and the sun, bears next to rivers and birds in the sky.  
  
“Thank you,” Octavia said sincerely, and the child squealed with pent-up excitement before running away. Octavia looked at the picture for a moment longer, studying it. It was well drawn, carefully thought through, and showed that the child had real promise as an artist. But all that was lost on her because of the distraction of one small detail- all along the surface of the bubble was smooth earth, unbroken and teeming with life. Yet despite all the beauty on the ground, not one tunnel came anywhere close to breaching that frontier.


	27. 27- Bellamy

It felt good to be back on the road, back in the fresh air, and mostly healthy again. Bellamy’s leg wasn’t completely healed, but it could cope with being on horseback, and more importantly he was no longer burning up with fever, he was eating and drinking, and he felt normal. The downside of this was that, no longer preoccupied with dying, he became overwhelmed with worry.  
  
Now that he knew Octavia was inside another mountain, Bellamy was plagued with dark imaginings. He saw his sister in a cage, saw her being hung upside down with tubes sucking out her life, being strapped to a table and drilled without any anesthetic, robbed of all her marrow and dead from the pain and suffering of the procedure itself. The sound of that drill and her screams jarred him from his sleep most nights.  
  
Even when he did manage the occasional reprieve from worrying about Octavia, his thoughts turned immediately to Clarke. In a way, imagining what might be happening to her was even worse than imagining Octavia’s fate, because he had so little information. He knew almost nothing about the Ice Nation, and besides Echo’s dire warnings about how formidable its queen was, he had no idea what Clarke might be enduring at her hands. He was, however, sure that she couldn’t be there voluntarily.  
  
His concern for Clarke’s life softened his anger towards her; he was sure it was still there, somewhere, but it seemed so unimportant compared to the possibility of her suffering or imminent death. Often Bellamy found himself replaying their last moments together over and over, wishing he had said something different, _done_ something different- something that might have stopped her from going. If only she’d stayed at Camp Jaha, none of this would have happened.  
  
But as anxious as Bellamy was to find Clarke and make sure she was okay, he knew he had to make sure Octavia was safe first. If he could have split himself in two, he would have, but that just wasn’t possible, so Clarke would have to wait. He knew she’d understand why Octavia had to take priority.  
  
Tonight they had made camp near a waterfall, and Bellamy could hear the distant roaring of the water plunging downward. Their camp itself was nestled among the trees, and there was a soft bluish glow of a bioluminescent moss that clung to most of the trees, so that even though the fire had mostly gone out he could still see fairly well. Echo and Lincoln were asleep, but he had tossed and turned through another series of nightmares before he finally decided to give up. He was sitting up on a log, trying to relax, trying not to imagine anything horrible.  
  
His eyes drifted over to Echo, and then to Lincoln, who were lying not too far apart from each other, on the other side of the glowing embers of the fire, wrapped in furs. Lincoln was in pain, it was obvious, though the man tried to hide it most of the time, and pushed through it for the sake of their mission. Bellamy couldn’t help but think yet again of how good he was for Octavia; even if it was hard for him to see her growing up like that, moving on to the next stage of her life that didn’t include him so closely, he knew it was the right thing. She and Lincoln were good for each other, and Lincoln had more than proved himself worthy of Bellamy’s admiration for how much he loved his sister.  
  
Bellamy’s eyes drifted to Echo and he frowned as he watched her for a moment. Even in her sleep she looked short-tempered and fierce, but he couldn’t help but smile just a little as he shook his head. Most of the time she frustrated and aggravated him until he thought he’d go crazy, but he knew she felt exactly the same way about him. Yet she had worked so hard to keep him from dying, risked herself to keep him safe and literally forced him to recover from his illness. He knew they shared a bond from being next to each other in those cages, but he didn’t know what it meant, and he didn’t have time to dwell on it.  
  
With a sigh, Bellamy rolled his shoulders back and forth, trying to force himself to relax and unwind for the night. He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them. Each night they spent outdoors was colder than the last as they travelled further north, but he knew this was nothing compared to what was coming. He kept thinking about how when they would reach the Ice Nation- Octavia would be with them by then, of course- they would see snow for the first time. The thought appealed even to him, so he knew how much Octavia would love it.  
  
Smiling to himself at the thought, Bellamy stood up to return to his bed and finally try and sleep, since there were only a few more hours until sunrise and Echo never allowed them to oversleep.  
  
Bellamy had no sense of doom, no hair raising on the back of his neck to tell him that he was being watched, no feeling of eyes boring into him. He just happened to glance up and catch sight of a figure standing nearby, near the treeline. It made him jump, and with an inward groan he realised he was nowehere near his weapon. But he quickly realised that he wouldn't have used it even if it had been nearby, because the figure that he was looking at was that of a child.  
  
Standing next to the trees was a little girl who looked like she would reach no higher than Bellamy’s ribcage. She was fair-skinned, with a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and such bright blue eyes that they almost glowed out of her face. Her hair was pulled back and tied up, the tails hanging in a series of braids nearly to her waist. She was dressed in boots lined with fur, suede pants, a plain cotton shirt, and a leather coat that hung to her thighs, its hood lined with the same fur as her boots. Her eyes were fixed on Bellamy with such intensity that he had to shake off a feeling of discomfort at the gaze.  
  
“Are you lost?” he asked. The girl looked no older than twelve, yet she was out in the woods in the middle of the night. He looked around, but there was no sign of anyone else.  
  
She just watched him, saying nothing, but she didn’t look shy or uncertain.  
  
“Where’s your mother?” he tried. “Do you speak English?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
Bellamy frowned. “Do you need help?”  
  
“That is why I’ve come here,” she answered.  
  
“Okay, let me help you,” he said, holding out a hand. “Come here.”  
  
She walked over, but she didn’t take his hand. “I came to help _you.”_  
  
In spite of the strangeness of the situation, Bellamy couldn’t help but smile a little at that statement, and the grown up manner of her speech, despite the high youth of her voice. “Okay then. What do you want to help me with?”  
  
Behind him, he could hear stirring and he knew that either Echo or Lincoln was waking up, but before he could turn around the girl said something that made him freeze.  
  
“I know who you are, Bellamy of the Sky People.”  
  
The smile dropped from his face and he swallowed a little. “How do you know my name?”  
  
Echo was suddenly beside him, and she grabbed his arm, pulling him backward roughly. “Do not approach it!” she hissed. “That is a shadow child!”  
  
The little girl’s gaze ratcheted to Echo as Bellamy jerked his arm away. “What’s wrong with you?” he snapped, though he didn’t move.  
  
“Do as I say,” she growled, her eyes flashing with anger.  
  
“She’s just a little girl,” he protested.  
  
Echo gave him an exasperated look. “Keep your mouth closed and allow me to speak for us.”  
  
Bellamy glared at her, but he said nothing. He looked at the child, and it was true that her blue gaze was unnerving. He remembered Echo’s warning about shadow children, but he had expected something different- this little girl looked like the farthest thing possible from a threat. Yes, she was a bit creepy, but she was so little that he couldn’t imagine her causing much damage.  
  
“Why have you come here?” Echo asked carefully.  
  
“I bring an invitation from Elody of the Ice Nation, to invite Bellamy of the Sky People to her lands as an honoured guest. I also have a message for Bellamy, about his leader.”  
  
“Clarke?” Bellamy asked, surprised by that. “What is it?”  
  
_“Shof op,”_ Echo hissed. “Let me speak. Apologies, shadow child. My name is Echo. I grew up in Temagami… I am a child of the frozen lands.”  
  
The girl looked intently at Echo for a moment and nodded her head. “So you are. Do you bear the marks of your village?”  
  
“I do,” Echo answered, pulling down her pant leg to show the girl the tattoo that curled along her outer thigh.  
  
“My name is Lia,” the girl said. “I have been sent to escort you to the Ice Nation, to be seen by the queen. She knows that you would seek an audience, to discuss the terms of release for Clarke of the Sky People. She wishes you to know that Clarke is well, and that she is not a prisoner.”  
  
“Bullshit,” Bellamy said, shaking his head. “You’re lying.”  
  
Before Echo could glare at him, smack him, or even say a word, Lia moved quickly toward him and waved her hand around. He was confused, wondering if it was some kind of ritual, but then belatedly he felt a stinging pain and saw the flash of a small knife in her hand. Only when he registered the blood- his blood- dripping off the blade, did he looked down at himself.  
  
He had a series of shallow but meticulously placed incisions all over his body- there was one across his neck, over his jugular, one had sliced through his shirt, over his heart, and there were matching slashes on both his thighs, over his femoral arteries, and across both his wrists. Blood seeped from all the wounds, but they were shallow enough that the flow was already stopping, leaving only that uncomfortable sting, like a paper cut.  
  
Bellamy knew that making him bleed hadn’t been the point- the point was to show that she could kill him- any of them- anytime she wanted. Any one of those wounds, if deeper, could have been fatal, and he hadn’t even known she was doing it until it was over.  
  
“You must _not_ speak to me with such disrespect,” Lia said, and her blue eyes were like ice. “Do you understand?”  
  
“He does,” Echo said quickly, before Bellamy could speak. “Come and sit by the fire, and I will bring you food and drink.”  
  
“Thank you,” Lia said. “It has been a long journey.” He eyes trailed to Lincoln, still sleeping at the other side of the clearing. “Who is that?”  
  
_“Linkon kom Trikru,”_ Echo answered. “He is Bellamy’s brother, by marriage.” Bellamy was surprised when she described Lincoln that way, but he realised it was close enough to the truth.  
  
Lia nodded, then walked over to the log by the dying embers of the fire and sat down. Echo brought her a bowl of the stew they had eaten earlier.  
  
It was so hard for Bellamy to keep quiet, but he took his lead from Echo and just remained silent, standing next to her. He stared at the kid like she had three heads, hardly believing that she could be the one who had made the cuts on his body. Eventually Echo elbowed him hard in the ribs, and he dropped his gaze. She was so tense that his muscles ached just from being next to her, so he walked away. Circling back to the horses, Bellamy opened the saddlebag where his weapon was stored, thinking he would feel better having a gun on his hip, though he couldn’t exactly imagine shooting a child.  
  
“That won’t be necessary,” Lia’s voice suddenly broke through his thoughts. Bellamy froze and she continued, “I assure you, it would be quite useless anyway.” The kid’s back was completely facing toward him, yet somehow she knew exactly what he was doing.  
  
Echo gave Bellamy a sharp look and approached him, hissing softly, “No weapons. You will only anger it.” Bellamy wanted his gun anyway, but he knew he had to trust her.  
  
After Lia ate, she went to her pack and pulled out a bedroll, laying it down near the fire. “I will sleep now,” she told Echo. “At sunrise we will begin our journey north.” When Echo nodded her understanding, she lay down and closed her eyes.  
  
Bellamy and Echo moved to the edge of the campsite, sitting down together on a log on the other side of the fire from Lincoln and Lia. “We can’t go north tomorrow,” Bellamy said immediately, keeping his voice low. “We’re going after Octavia. So what are we going to do about her?”  
  
“Nothing,” she whispered. “As I said to you on the first day of this journey, if we are to have a shadow child then we are to have one. There is no way to lose it or get rid of it.”  
  
“So we just have to put up with her?”  
  
“It could have done far worse than what it did to you,” she said, touching his wrist for a moment. “Just stay away from it.”  
  
“We have to find Octavia though,” he said again. “We _have_ to.”  
  
“I understand what you are saying,” she assured him sternly. “I will talk to it tomorrow.”  
  
“Dammit, can you just… can you stop saying ‘it’?” he hissed irritably. “She’s a little girl. What is she- like, twelve? Maybe-”  
  
“The number of moons it has doesn’t dictate its capacity for violence,” she muttered impatiently. “You are more child than that thing over there.”  
  
“What the hell does that mean?” Bellamy snapped, and then he shook his head. “Nevermind. Just _stop_ calling her ‘it.’ Okay?”  
  
“In the Ice Nation we are taught the truth- shadow children are not people. They are death bringers, destroyers, dangerous beyond measure. Not to be underestimated. Does any of this mean anything to you?”  
  
“Yes,” he said, drawing in a deep breath to steady his temper. “I get what you’re saying, but she _is_ only a little girl- it’s not her fault she was taken from her mother when she was so little and raised like this. Maybe-”  
  
“Not her _fault,_ yes,” she answered, somewhat patronisingly. “But her history is not our concern. Whether she might have been different in another life won’t matter while she’s slicing your throat open.”  
  
“Okay fine, but what if she doesn’t know there’s another option?”  
  
Echo let out a sound of frustration, turning angry eyes on him. He was now extremely well-acquainted with that look- very much like the one she’d given him inside Mount Weather, when she’d first realised he was a Sky Person, and very like all the looks she’d given him when he wanted to go after Octavia despite the fact that he was dying of a spider bite.  
  
“You don’t know _anything,”_ she growled at him. “You are so soft, so naïve, so ignorant, so-”  
  
“Hey, I’m trying, okay?” he interrupted, keeping his voice calm despite the insults she was hurling at him. “I’m trying to learn.”  
  
“Then _learn,”_ she snapped, her voice still low despite being angry. “Open your _ears_ when I try to teach you. That shadow child has a small body so it can blend, fit into tiny spaces, and so it can _kill_ you before you even see it coming. It is _not_ a little girl. It is _not_ to be trusted. _Ge em?”_ She swatted him on the head. “Understand?”  
  
Bellamy glowered into the dead fire for a while, and when it became clear that he was not going to answer her, Echo let out a frustrated breath and stood up to move away. Even on angry feet she slipped into the woods like a ghost, heading in the direction of the waterfall. His eyes followed her until she had vanished, and only then did his gaze slowly shift back to Lia.  
  
He watched her chest rise and fall for a little while as she slept, and he tried to see what Echo saw, tried to see a dangerous assassin, a person with a small body but who was not a child. But he couldn’t do it. He was wary of her because of Echo’s warnings and because of the violence she'd inflicted on him, but he also couldn’t help but think of Charlotte, of what she’d done to Wells, the way she’d jumped off that cliff, and how heartbroken he'd been when he wasn’t able to help her. When he pictured Charlotte, or pictured Octavia at that age, and then looked at Lia, he just couldn’t accept the way Echo had talked about her. He jabbed at the cooling embers with a stick, muttering under his breath as if still arguing with Echo, “She’s _just_ a little girl.”


	28. 28- Octavia

At the breakfast with Moira and her family, Octavia had learned a lot about Raven Rock, but she felt like it had only raised more questions than answers. Still, she couldn’t help but be intrigued by how different Raven Rock seemed from Mount Weather. She knew what had happened to Bellamy and the others when they were inside, and by comparison Raven Rock seemed so tame.  
  
As Moira explained it, when her mother had taken power, she had started the initiative to bring new blood into the mountain, both for genetic diversity and to give their children the opportunity to inherit the ability to filter radiation. Eventually, they would be able to walk outside because of their efforts.  
  
But Octavia was wary. She knew that Mount Weather had seemed pleasant at first, until they realised that by draining her friends, and then by taking their bone marrow, they wouldn’t have to wait generations for the ability to walk on the ground again. And Moira did know about the bone marrow. That was why Octavia was so careful not to give too much away about herself or her people, and had let Moira and Kota do most of the talking.  
  
She was allowed to walk freely throughout the facility, only because there was no way out, but what Octavia saw inside seemed to backup what she’d been told. The population was a real mix, and many of the Grounders who lived inside Raven Rock still retained their original clothing and hairstyles, while others appeared more assimilated. Some of Raven Rock’s people, on the other hand, had adopted Grounder hairstyles, like Octavia herself. Walking through a crowded room, like the mess hall, she heard conversations in English, Trigedasleng, as well as some people who spoke in mixtures of the two. It seemed like Moira’s dream of an integrated society was working.  
  
Still, Octavia was sure there were skeletons in Raven Rock’s closets, and she was determined to find them.  
  
It was clear that everyone inside the mountain knew who Octavia was, and people were very curious about her, the children especially. They would approach her, shy at first, and then more brave, and ask her questions- about the outside, the Ark, space, her landing on Earth, the war, Mount Weather. She censored her answers carefully, but enjoyed their eager little faces gazing up at her. She could only imagine that she must have looked very similar when she was little, listening to her mother or Bellamy telling stories.  
  
Everyone was kind to her, and she realised that they were trying to make her feel welcome inside the mountain, because they all assumed that she would stay. Delicately, she tried to probe for stories about people who had run away or escaped, but no one seemed to have ever heard of such a thing happening. Octavia tried not to feel hopeless, but she found herself growing more and more claustrophobic and more and more frustrated.  
  
Raven Rock was quite a large facility, much bigger than Mount Weather, and Octavia had discovered some strange things- what Moira had described as a “coffee shop,” “gift shop,” and a strange dilapidated hallway with a weird mechanism at one end and a strange control centre at the other, filled with containers. “A bowling alley,” Moira explained with a small smile. “The pins and balls have long since been lost, repurposed, or broken, and we haven’t really found another use for the room besides storage.”  
  
Octavia walked down one of the long corridors and then up onto the catwalk that she’d discovered early on in her explorations. It spanned a large cavernous room, which was completely flooded. This reservoir provided Raven Rock’s fresh water, and the water had a greenish-blue tinge to it. She liked to sit on the catwalk and watch the water. As long as she kept her eyes down and ignored the eerie silence, she could almost imagine that she was outside. She missed the sky terribly. She was still waiting for Bellamy and Lincoln.  
  
After she sat by the reservoir for a while, Octavia heaved a sigh and got back to her feet. Instead of going back the way she’d come, she decided to investigate a smaller tunnel that led off this main one, which she hadn’t yet had a chance to explore. It looked the same as any of the other tunnels she had already investigated, but she was determined to leave no stone unturned, and she always held out hope that she would discover a way to the outside.  
  
She was surprised when she reached the end of the tunnel and found nothing but a dead end. Disappointed, she was about to turn back when she saw the tiniest sliver of light at the base of the tunnel, in the rock. She quickly moved over and touched the wall, and she realised that there was a very well hidden door set into the stone itself. Octavia got her fingernails under the frame of the door, and with some difficulty she managed to pry it open just a little, then the door creaked open fully. It seemed like maybe the door hadn’t been used in a long time.  
  
When she stepped inside, the hallway was as immaculate and clean as the rest of the facility, bright and sterile, with that soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead. On the wall was a sign that said ‘Restricted – Authorized Personnel Only.’  
  
Octavia didn’t even hesitate, she just kept her footsteps quiet as she continued down the hallway, crouching low in case she ran into anyone. At the end of the corridor was another door, and Octavia headed for it, hoping that whoever might normally be here would be in the mess hall, since it was about dinnertime.  
  
When she reached the door, she pushed it open and came upon a huge room, lit dimly. There were about a dozen or so strange machines in the room, almost as tall as Octavia. Each one looked like a tall cabinet of drawers, with a plastic, transparent case sitting on top. The case had holes in it, and just under the case was a control panel lit up with numbers and icons that Octavia didn’t understand. The light was so subdued that it was hard to see exactly what these machines might be, so she approached one slowly, feeling nervous though she wasn’t sure why.  
  
As soon as she reached the nearest one, she still couldn’t figure out what it was. She realised that the holes in the plastic case had little doors attached to them, and at least one of the numbers on the console was a measurement of temperature, which was high. Octavia laid her fingertips against the plastic, and it felt warm to the touch.  
  
A sharp sound caught Octavia’s attention and she quickly moved through the identical machines, realising that one of the plastic cases up ahead had something in it, and that’s where the noise had come from. She hurried that way, and as she neared she realised what she was looking at.  
  
Her heart caught in her throat as she saw the tiny baby in the plastic box, squirming and letting out soft little cries, only slightly muffled by the plastic that surrounded it. There were tubes and wires leading away from its body, and is head was wrapped round and round with bandages, oozing with blood, covering its face.  
  
Octavia put her hands against the plastic and just watched it for a moment. She had never seen a baby up close- Grounder women kept their babies in fabric slings or wraps that tied them to their bodies, and they were rarely even put down until they could walk.  
  
This baby was tiny and helpless, naked aside from a cloth wrapped between its legs and the bandages over its face. It was squirming and crying out for something, and Octavia’s heart broke for the little thing, but she had no idea what to do. She wished so much that Bellamy was there.  
  
Finally she decided that she couldn’t just stand there doing nothing, so she opened one of the little doors and gingerly put her hand inside. The air within the box was pleasantly warm. She didn’t want to hurt the baby, which looked so tiny and fragile, so she just touched its skin lightly, feeling the rise and fall of its little chest. She was surprised when the baby grabbed her finger. It was unexpectedly strong, and she couldn’t help but smile. She marvelled at its little fingers, the tiny fingernails on each one, and then she looked down at its feet, its cute little chubby toes and skinny legs.  
  
“Hey, little baby,” she cooed softly. Her touch seemed to calm it somewhat, and its cries stopped as she held its hand. “What are you doing in here, huh?” Belatedly she realised there were other babies there too- three more of the plastic boxes also held infants. Not all of them had bandages over their eyes, but they all seemed to have at least one place on their bodies that was injured.  
  
Suddenly the lights turned on to full brightness and something that sounded like a siren broke through the silence of the room. Octavia’s heart started pounding as she pulled her hand back from the baby, shutting the little plastic door again. She turned and hurried back towards the entrance she’d come through, wanting to get back to the tunnel as quickly as possible.  
  
“Stop!” a man’s voice suddenly rang out behind her. Octavia saw his gun and started running. “Don’t move!”  
  
She hit the door with both hands outstretched, banging it open and continuing down the corridor. She heard the crackle of a radio behind her as her pursuer followed, but she just kept going.  
  
It wasn’t until another man appeared at the other end of the tunnel and started towards her that Octavia slowed her pace. Frantically she looked around for any other option, but the tunnel had no entrance or exit aside from the room that led to the babies and the corridor that led to the reservoir- both were now blocked by the men, who were advancing on her. She felt her claustrophobia boiling up as they closed in on her.  
  
“Wait!” Moira’s voice came from behind the first man. Octavia saw her and let out a breath of relief as the men stopped walking. She hurried toward the woman, past the man with the gun, and as soon as she reached Moira she was given a reassuring smile. “Leave us,” she said to the men. They obliged, leaving the two women alone together.  
  
“What’s going on?” Octavia asked.  
  
“Calm down,” Moira said gently. “You activated an alarm when you opened one of the incubators.”  
  
“What the hell are you doing to those babies?” she demanded.  
  
Moira hesitated, letting out a sigh. “Come with me.” She led her back into the room and took her to another one of the machines- incubators. The baby inside was quiet, its little eyes twitching with sleep. Its chest was wrapped up in bandages. “This little boy had a heart defect,” she explained. “The radiation is stronger here, and a lot of children are born with problems. Their parents bring them here so we can use our medical technology to save them. He had surgery last week, and he’ll have another in about a month.”  
  
“And then what?” Octavia asked. “You’ll send him home?”  
  
Moira’s eyes met Octavia’s. “You know the answer to that.”  
  
“So that’s it? They can never see their families again? Just like your husband? Just like _me?”_  
  
“These babies were brought here so they would have a chance to live,” she said firmly. “When you’re a mother, you’ll understand- we do anything for our children. Even if it’s painful.”  
  
Octavia knew from her own mother just how true that statement was, but she wasn’t going to agree with anything Moira said. “And if it was _your_ baby, wouldn’t you want it back?” she asked.  
  
“Of course I would,” Moira said, impatient now. “But we don’t have unlimited resources here, Octavia. I would love to save all the world’s babies and send them home with no reward for my efforts, but this is as good as it gets. We save their lives and in return they’re given up for adoption to Raven Rock families. When they grow up they add their genes to ours.”  
  
“And what if you can’t save them?”  
  
“What do you think?” Moira asked, her voice soft.  
  
But Octavia already knew. Horrified, she said, “You _kill_ them?”  
  
“We euthanise them in the most humane way possible.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Octavia groaned, taking a step away from her, shaking her head. She knew her eyes were full of shock and disbelief.  
  
“Please try to understand,” Moira said urgently. “Before we started this program, the Plains People would leave their deformed babies to die in the forest. If they were lucky, they’d die of exposure. The unlucky ones would be eaten alive by animals. Since we started inviting those babies into Raven Rock, the ones who can be saved are, and the ones who can’t are given a painless death, and their bodies are laid to rest with dignity.”  
  
“That’s just what people like you do, isn’t it?” Octavia growled, shaking her head. “You’re exactly like Mount Weather- trying to justify the horrible things you do. But the truth is, you’re all _monsters.”_ Even Clarke, she added silently to herself, thinking of how she’d tried to defend what she’d done to tonDC. The righteous could be more dangerous than the cruel.  
  
“Octavia!” Moira exclaimed. “If we were like Mount Weather, you would be dead. But you’re not. In fact, you’re a welcome and equal member of this society. We don’t keep people in cages, we don’t force blood and marrow extraction, and we _don’t_ look on the clans as savages. Be careful who you insult.”  
  
She shook her head again. “I don’t _want_ to be an equal member of this society,” she said. “I want to go _home._ I want Bellamy and Lincoln. You can’t keep me locked up in here forever, and you can’t convince me that _this-”_ she waved her hand at the incubators “- is justified.”  
  
“What you see here is the lesser of two evils, believe me,” Moira said.  
  
Octavia shook her head, glaring at her. “You tell yourself whatever you have to, lady.” Moira reached for her hand but Octavia jerked it away. “Don’t touch me!”  
  
“I can see you need some time,” Moira answered shortly. “This is a restricted area- don’t come back here, Octavia. I’m going to escort you to your room now.”  
  
“I don’t need an escort,” she snapped, turning on her heel and charging from the room. Moira fell into step behind her, but she ignored her all the way back to the room where she was staying, slamming the door as she went inside. She paced back and forth angrily, kicking at the bed and chair before finally flopping onto her stomach on the bed and screaming into the pillow. Once she had exhausted herself, she stood up and went to the door, opening it to see if Moira was still there. To her relief, she’d left.  
  
Octavia went back to the bed and lay down on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She was so angry and felt so helpless and alone, so powerless to do anything at all about any of this. She just needed to get outside.  
  
“Hurry up,” she said softly, impatiently, wishing her words could travel to Lincoln and her brother and get them to realise just how much she needed them. She felt a strong urgency, like things were only going to get worse from here. “Please, please hurry.”


	29. 29- Bellamy

It was exhausting to watch how tactful Echo was attempting to be as she explained to Lia why they couldn’t go straight to the Ice Nation. Now that Lincoln was awake and understood the ramifications of the visitor in their midst, he was also bending over backwards to be polite.  
  
Lia listened carefully to both of them before she frowned and said, “The queen is expecting us.”  
  
“And my sister is in trouble,” Bellamy answered evenly, ignoring the death-glare that Echo threw at him. “We’re not going anywhere without her.”  
  
With a glare that matched Echo’s, Lia said calmly, “I _could_ force you.”  
  
“Please,” Lincoln said. “She has very little time left. We will happily go to the Ice Nation with you, but not until Octavia is safe.”  
  
Lia seemed to consider this for a long time. “I will help you retrieve your sister,” she said to Bellamy. “And your woman,” she added to Lincoln. “But you must do something for me in return.”  
  
“Fine,” Bellamy answered with a nod.  
  
“Will you _please_ hold your tongue?” Echo growled. Respectfully she asked Lia, “What is it that you wish us to do?”  
  
“The queen will not be pleased when we arrive late,” she explained. “But if you bring her something that she wants, it will soften her anger.”  
  
“And what does she want?” Lincoln asked tentatively.  
  
“Only what is rightfully hers,” Lia answered. “There is a fugitive of the Ice Nation in these lands. A person who must answer for their crimes.You could act as bounty hunters and bring this person back to the queen.”  
  
Bellamy hesitated. “And then what will she do?”  
  
“That is not your concern,” Lia answered. “But rest assured, the punishment will fit the crime.”  
  
Echo, Bellamy, and Lincoln all exchanged an uncomfortable expression. Finally Bellamy shook his head. “Look, we’ve already been delayed by me getting hurt,” he explained. “And now we’re going to be even more delayed by having to get Octavia. I’m not willing to take yet another detour when Clarke is waiting for us.”  
  
“Clarke is safe,” Lia answered shortly. “And she has no idea you are coming. The queen wants your visit to be a surprise. Do this, or I will not allow you to retrieve your sister, and we will leave for the Ice Nation immediately.”  
  
Bellamy’s eyes darkened. “Hang on,” he snapped. “Just wait a-”  
  
Before he could say anything else, Echo actually clapped a hand over his mouth and dragged him backward. “Do not _speak_ to it like that,” she hissed. “Do you want to live to see tomorrow?”  
  
“So what do we do, just agree to her terms?” he demanded, pulling away from her grip. “And you just said ‘it’ again-  _stop_ that.”  
  
“We have no choice but to agree,” she confirmed, ignoring his second comment. Walking back over to Lia she said, “We will do as you say. But Octavia is in danger within the mountain, and we must recover her first.”  
  
“And after we have her in our possession- dead _or_ alive- you will do as I ask?” Lia questioned, her eyes flickering to Bellamy for a moment. _“All_ of you?”  
  
“We will,” Echo replied. “You have my word.”  
  
“And mine,” Lincoln agreed.  
  
All three of them looked to Bellamy. “Yeah,” he said with a heavy nod. “As long as we get my sister back, and you take us to Clarke, I’ll do whatever you want.”  
  
“I have your _word?”_ Lia asked.  
  
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “You have my word.”  
  
“Very well,” the child said with a satisfied nod. “Then we must not waste more time. Come, let us set out for Raven Rock. The mountains are allies to the Ice Nation- they will allow us entrance.”  
  
This was surprising to hear, but Bellamy was relieved. Maybe this shadow child wasn’t going to be such bad news after all. “Great,” he said, impatient to start moving. He went over to his bed and began to pack things up, Lincoln doing the same. Echo dropped to her knees next to Bellamy.  
  
“You must be more careful,” she said quietly. “I know what you see when you look at her, but she is not a child and she is not your sister. Be careful.”  
  
He remembered when Charlotte had said that to him- _I’m_ not _your sister, just_ stop _helping me!_ It had caught him off guard then, and he had the same reaction now.  He knew he had a weakness for children because of Octavia, but even with Charlotte, even after he’d known what she’d done, he would have helped her until the end. Just like he wanted to help this girl now. He couldn’t turn it off.  
  
With a sigh, he nodded his head. “I’ll be careful,” he promised, tying off his pack. “Let’s just get Octavia and Clarke. Whatever we have to do, it doesn’t matter- let’s just get it done and make sure they’re safe.” He knew that until both Octavia and Clarke were with him, he wouldn’t be able to relax, and so he just had to do whatever was necessary to make sure that happened.  
  
They set out as a group- Lia had her own horse that she’d put out to graze, so only Echo and Bellamy had to share, which he was used to by now. He let Lia take the lead, with Lincoln following her, and Bellamy and Echo bringing up the rear.  
  
“You must be prepare yourself,” Echo’s voice suddenly came quietly from behind him, her lips close to his ear. “We do not know what we will find inside that mountain.”  
  
“I know,” he said, letting out a heavy breath, his whole body becoming tense. “But she’s not dead until I see her dead. Got it?” Even the thought made him feel sick.  
  
He couldn’t see Echo where she was sitting behind him, but he could imagine her frown as she said, “I do not mean to make you feel hopeless, but I fear that you will act recklessly if we find something inside that you do not like.”  
  
“She’s not dead,” he answered shortly.  
  
“But if-”  
  
“But _if,”_ he interrupted, cutting her off, not wanting to hear those words spoken out loud. “Then _everyone_ inside that place is going to die.”  
  
There was a short silence where he was sure Echo was going to get angry at him, tell him off yet again, and he was acutely aware of her hands around his stomach. He remembered the first conversation they’d had, when he’d told her he was going to kill everyone in Mount Weather. She had understood then. So, when she spoke, her voice was soft and gentle as she said, _“Jus drein, jus daun.”_  
  
He knew what that meant- blood must have blood. It was ironic, because when he’d first heard that expression, before Mount Weather, the only thing he’d been able to think of was the famous quote: ‘an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.’ He had disagreed, then, with that concept of justice, yet when it came to Octavia, he had no qualms about revenge. Maybe it was fitting that he and Echo were having such a similar conversation now.  
  
But he wouldn’t- _couldn’t-_ accept that Octavia might be dead. Not unless her body lay cold in his arms. Until then, she was alive, and he was going to find her. Until then, though, he refused to think about it.  
  
Whenever he forced himself not to worry about Octavia, Clarke’s face came to the forefront of his mind. He reached for Echo’s hand and touched the back of it lightly to draw her attention back to him. “Do you think Lia’s telling the truth about Clarke?” he asked her quietly. “Do you think she’s really safe?”  
  
“I do not know,” she admitted. “Shadow children are trained to be excellent liars, but I see no reason for her to tell us that Clarke is well if she is not. We were already travelling to the Ice Nation, without her prompting.”  
  
“Okay, so if she’s fine then what does that mean?” he asked. “She may have left Camp Jaha, but I don’t see her just joining up with another clan and never coming back. And Lexa said that she was _taken,_ not that she went there voluntarily.”  
  
“Being well and being free are very different,” Echo pointed out. “She may be alive, perhaps even treated well, but that does not mean that she would choose to be there.”  
  
“Lexa said that the queen took her because of their alliance,” Bellamy said thoughtfully. “That she didn’t know that Lexa had betrayed us.”  
  
“And yet by now she must know the whole truth,” Echo said. “But she still has Clarke in her possession. She still needs or wants her for something.”  
  
“Yeah,” Bellamy said heavily, his brow furrowed. “The question is what.”  
  
“And that is what we do not know,” Echo said gently. After a brief silence she asked, “What is Clarke to you?”  
  
He shifted a little and said nothing for a minute. Finally he replied, “I don’t know. A friend.” It was such an inadequate word, even the shape of it tasted wrong.  
  
“More?” Echo questioned.  
  
Again he didn’t answer, he just shook his head and said once more, “I don’t know.” After a moment’s thought he added, “If Octavia wasn’t in trouble, I’d be getting to the Ice Nation as fast as possible.”  
  
“She is very important to you, then,” Echo said.  
  
Bellamy let out a long breath. “We’ve been through a lot.”  
  
“And yet she left you.”  
  
His jaw tightened, then relaxed. “Yeah,” he agreed heavily. “She left me. But I can be mad about that when she’s safe.”  
  
Echo’s fingers curled around his and she gave his hand a squeeze. “You are an honourable man, _Belomi kom Skaikru.”_  
  
He smiled a little, but it faded quickly. He squeezed her hand back before letting it go, and then he shook his head, feeling uncomfortable with that compliment hanging between them. He never felt he deserved praise so he tried to brush it off by saying, “I do what anyone would.”  
  
He could hear the sadness in her voice as she said, “If only that were true.”

 


	30. 30- Clarke

“Today we will see to our prisoners,” Elody said, patting the chair next to her throne and smiling at Clarke.  
  
She was used to sitting at the queen’s right, and took the seat immediately, and Yana took her now-customary place standing just behind her chair. Clarke touched her hair, feeling what kind of intricate braids Yana had put into it today. Part of it curled over her ears while other bits hung down past her shoulders in messy braids, and the whole thing was pulled tight at her scalp. She wished for a mirror, that she could see what she looked like- her hair was so different, her clothes so different, would she even recognise herself?  
  
“Prisoners?” she asked Elody.  
  
“Yes,” the queen said with a nod. “Once a month, I review all the prisoners and assign punishments. Today you can help me.”  
  
Clarke frowned a little, a bit uncomfortable with the idea, but she nodded slowly and said, “Okay.”  
  
The first man that was brought in front of them was shackled at the wrists and ankles, and knelt on the floor in front of the dais with his head bowed.  
  
The guard who’d brought him in now introduced him to the queen, and the two began to speak in Trigedasleng to each other. Softly, Yana translated the conversation for Clarke.  
  
“Here stands Niko, from Skowhegan, who took his neighbour’s dogsled without permission, leading to the deaths of the sled dogs.”  
  
Niko was given a chance to defend himself, and said, “My daughter was sick with fever and I needed to get help quickly. I knew my neighbour was ice fishing on the river, and I couldn’t wait for him to return. The snowstorm took me by surprise, and I nearly lost my life. I had to walk home the next morning, and by the time I returned, my daughter was dead.”  
  
“Is there any victim who would like to speak?” Elody asked the assembled crowd.  
  
A man stepped forward and said, “I am Yutu, the man whose dogs were lost.”  
  
“And what punishment do you feel is fair?” the queen asked him.  
  
“I expect to be compensated for the loss of my dogs, but this man acted out of desperation to save his child. I do not wish to see him suffer further.” He gave the queen a respectful nod before stepping back.  
  
Elody turned to Clarke and said, “When deciding punishment, we must always take into account the seriousness of the crime, the extent of the damage to property and life, and also we must consider the desires of those wronged when deciding on a sentence. What penalty would you recommend?”  
  
Clarke was completely taken aback by that. After a moment of shock she managed to say, “With all due respect, I have no idea. I don’t know enough about your justice system to recommend anything.”  
  
The queen shook her head and said firmly, “That is exactly why I wish to hear your opinion. You are not coloured by the laws of our land, and I am curious to hear what punishment you feel is fair. We have both heard the same testimony, and therefore you are just as qualified as me to pass judgment. This is part of why you are here.”  
  
Clarke swallowed and looked back at the two men. If they seemed disturbed by this outsider deciding their fate, they gave no indication of it. After a long moment of thought she said carefully, “I’m sure that the loss of Yutu’s dogs was very difficult for him. But Niko didn’t steal his dogsled out of malice, and he didn’t mean for the dogs to die in that blizzard. His daughter’s death was a horrific consequence of that bad luck. I believe he’s lost enough. He should ensure that Yutu receives the same number of dogs that he’s lost- either by giving some of his own, or getting some from somewhere else, and they should be as good as the ones that were lost.”  
  
“Anything else?” the queen asked.  
  
Clarke met her eyes, and slowly shook her head. “No. That’s good enough.”  
  
Elody seemed pleased with Clarke’s assessment. “I agree completely.” She relayed this plan in Trigedasleng, and both men seemed pleased with the answer. They bowed to their queen and then, to Clarke’s surprise, they bowed to her as well.  
  
“Have confidence in yourself, Clarke,” Elody said to her as the shackles were removed from the prisoner and the men moved away together. “Leadership is your calling.”  
  
Clarke couldn’t help but smile a little, and she felt herself straightening up with interest as the next prisoner was led in, a girl a little younger than she herself was. She looked scared as she knelt before them, and their eyes met. Clarke couldn’t help but give her a gentle smile, trying to reassure her.  
  
“Here stands Lux,” the guard said, and Yana continued translating. “She is from Tawa, and she murdered a man, a friend of her father’s and a blacksmith.”  
  
Clarke couldn’t hide her surprise. Lux spoke next, and her voice was barely above a whisper as she murmured, “I have nothing to say in my defence.”  
  
“Victims?” Elody asked.  
  
A man and woman stepped forward together; the woman’s face was streaked with tears, and the man looked furious. They almost spoke over one other, but Yana was able to relay what was said to Clarke, “It is their son that she killed. The two had been lovers. She stabbed him in his bed. We want blood! This girl must die.”  
  
Again, Elody looked to Clarke to determine punishment, but she had no idea where to begin. “Why won’t she speak for herself?”  
  
The queen shook her head. “It is her right to do so, but she does not have to.”  
  
Clarke looked to Lux and asked, “Why? Why did you kill him?”  
  
Lux's eyes met Clarke’s again. She was shaking. Then her gaze slid sideways, towards the victim’s parents, then back to the floor. She shook her head. “I have nothing to say,” she repeated.  
  
“What is your decision?” Elody prodded Clarke. “She has killed. You have heard what the family wishes as punishment. Do you agree that this girl should be put to death?”  
  
Clarke couldn’t help but look again into Lux's eyes. She couldn’t help but feel a nagging hesitation, telling her not to answer that question, that she didn’t have enough information. She looked at the queen and said, “I want to speak to her alone- without the victims.”  
  
Elody frowned. “That is most unusual.”  
  
“But it’s what I want, if I’m the one to decide her punishment,” Clarke insisted.  
  
An amused smile passed across the queen’s lips. “Very well,” she said. She motioned to the guard, who led the victim’s parents from the room. They seemed angry about it, but they had little choice but to follow.  
  
Clarke stepped off the dais and went to Lux, crouching down in front of her. “I need to know why you did this,” she said softly. “You don’t look like a killer.”  
  
When Lux's eyes met Clarke’s this time, they were filled with tears. “And what does a killer look like?” she whispered. Instantly Clarke thought of Charlotte, but she pushed that away.  
  
“You and this man, you were lovers?” she asked, careful to use the same language that the victim’s parents had.  
  
Lux's lip curled in anger and her fists clenched, rattling her chains. “No! We were not. I would never have loved a man like him.”  
  
“What kind of man was he?” Clarke pressed. Lux's eyes flickered towards the door where the victim’s parents had gone, but Clarke shook her head, drawing her attention back. “No, don’t worry about them. Don’t even worry about the queen. It’s just you and me. They said you killed him in his bed?”  
  
Such a long silence passed that Clarke was sure the girl wasn’t going to answer, but then, finally, Lux whispered, “Yes. After he forced himself on me. I do not even remember grabbing the knife. I just wanted to get away.” Tears slipped down her cheeks as she added, “I did not want him to die… and now _I_ want to die. You should just do as they say and sentence me to death.”  
  
Clarke’s heart broke as she shook her head. “No,” she said softly, her own eyes prickling with tears. “What you did was justified.” She stood up and faced Elody, saying in a louder voice, “She should go free.”  
  
“Free?” the queen asked, arching an eyebrow in obvious surprise. “For _murder?”_  
  
“No. For self-defence,” she answered firmly. “He raped her. She was only trying to get him to stop.”  
  
Elody looked at Lux. “Is this true?”  
  
“It is,” the girl said, her voice a little stronger now.  
  
“And what about the victims?” the queen asked.  
  
“Lux is a victim too,” Clarke answered. “She’s suffered enough.”  
  
“Come back here,” Elody said, and when Clarke had sat down again in her chair the queen nodded to her guards and the parents were brought back in. “Explain your decision to them.”  
  
Clarke felt her face flame a little at being put on the spot like that, but she managed to keep her composure as she said carefully, “Lux killed your son in self-defence. He forced himself on her, and she was only trying to save herself.”  
  
“Lies!” the father exploded. The mother broke down sobbing, dropping to her knees on the floor. “Who is this girl, to decide this case? How dare you!”  
  
_“Enough!”_ Elody bellowed, silencing them both. She had gotten to her feet, and her black eyes were full of anger. That, together with her glittering gown and antler headdress, created a very imposing image. “Clarke of the Sky People is an honoured guest here. Her people and ours are allied, and her judgment carries the same weight as my own.”  
  
“So there will be nothing done?” the father demanded. “This girl will simply go free, despite her crime? She took our son from us!”  
  
“And if your son was alive, he would be put to death for what he did,” Elody answered evenly. “Let this matter be over.”  
  
Without another word, the man grabbed his wife off the floor and dragged her from the room, seething with fury. Clarke let out a long breath of relief as they left and the guards removed Lux's shackles.  
  
“Thank you,” she said to Clarke, clasping her hands in front of her and bowing in obvious gratitude. “Thank you so much, _Skaikruheda… Azgedakwin._ I will never forget this.”  
  
“Go and live a good life,” Elody said gently. The girl nodded her head, and left. Turning to Clarke, the queen said, “You are very intuitive. I should have involved you in this much sooner.”  
  
Clarke smiled. “If I hadn’t been here, what would you have done?” she asked her curiously.  
  
Elody considered the question, and then shrugged. “I would have put her to death.”  
  
The smile faded from Clarke’s face and she frowned. “But it wasn’t her fault.”  
  
“She said nothing in her defence,” the queen said. “That was her choice. I don’t have time to force the truth from the lips of those who would benefit from its telling.”  
  
Clarke shook her head. “But the most important thing has to be justice,” she said. “You can’t just kill people you _think_ are guilty. You have to be sure. It has to be fair.”  
  
_“Fair?”_ Elody asked, as though the word was almost foreign to her. “There is nothing _fair_ about justice. Even if the punishment is selected perfectly, there will always be someone who feels wronged in the process.”  
  
Clarke let out a long breath, face flaming. She thought about all those floated by the Chancellor, the hundreds of people killed to save oxygen on the Ark, the hundreds she burned alive at the drop ship, and all the people she and Bellamy had irradiated inside Mount Weather. She knew that Elody was right- Clarke herself had come to that realisation herself, weeks ago, when she was alone in the woods with nothing to do but reflect on everything that had happened. No matter what, no matter how hard she tried to be righteous, to be reasonable, it was pointless. Somebody always had to lose.


	31. 31- Octavia

She stayed in her room for the next two days, not going outside, not eating or drinking, just staring at the ceiling, thinking, seeing those babies in her mind’s eye and in her nightmares whenever she slept. She knew that a warrior shouldn’t worry about what she couldn’t control, but it was hard not to feel hopeless.  
  
Finally Moira came to the room, letting herself in, and she was carrying a tray heaped with delicious foods. Octavia’s stomach betrayed her, growling loudly, but she turned over and put her face to the wall.  
  
“What can I do?” Moira asked, her voice gentle- even a bit scared. She sat down on the edge of the bed.  
  
“You can let me out of here,” Octavia answered, her tone flat. “Let me go home to my family.”  
  
“Octavia…” Moira trailed off, saying nothing for a long moment. Finally she said, “You can have a new family here.” Octavia jolted off the bed as though it was on fire and stalked out of the room. Moira followed, seeming alarmed. “Please, Octavia, can we talk?”  
  
“I don’t want to talk to you!” she yelled over her shoulder angrily. Up ahead, a mother with a toddler was walking towards them, but she quickly picked up her baby and headed the other way.  
  
Moira caught Octavia’s hand and spun her around, putting her hands firmly on her shoulders. “You may not believe this, but I _do_ want to make this easier for you,” she said. “As I’ve already said, there are people you can talk to, people who can help you adjust. There are even medications.”  
  
Octavia shrugged her shoulders out from the older woman’s grasp. “Drugs?” she snapped. “You want to give me _drugs?”_  
  
“Medicines,” Moira answered, sounding a bit helpless.  
  
“What, so you can euthanise me like those poor little babies?”  
  
“Octavia,” she said sharply. “You _know_ we don’t want that.”  
  
“What _do_ you want, then?” she demanded.  
  
“You know the answer to that.”  
  
“Yeah, I do,” Octavia agreed. “You want me to stay here, be your prisoner, and what… just marry someone you decide has the right genes? Have children you can breed into your little master race?”  
  
_“That’s_ not fair!” Moira said, her voice raised. Her eyes were angry. “I’m trying to build something here- a sustainable future. I’m trying to bring us back to the ground without hurting anyone.”  
  
“But I’m already _on_ the ground,” Octavia shouted. “I have a _family_ out there, a _clan,_ and I _don’t_ belong here!”  
  
“I know you feel like that now,” Moira said quietly. “But things change.”  
  
Octavia let out a yell of frustration and she stalked away from her again, back towards her room. Moira trailed after her uncertainly, but Octavia was about ready to strangle her. “Leave me alone!” she yelled, slamming the door before Moira could cross the threshold. But it didn’t lock, so the woman just pushed it back open and came inside anyway. Octavia wanted to scream; she felt cornered and claustrophobic, helpless and weak. She went to the corner and put her back to it, sinking down to the floor and hugging her knees to her chest.  
  
“Please,” Moira said. “You have no idea how much I want to make this work… just tell me how I can help you.”  
  
“Just let me go,” Octavia asked, her voice small. “Find someone else who’s less pigheaded than me.”  
  
With a small smile, Moira crouched in front of her, but she knew better than to try and touch her. “As far as I can tell, Octavia, you’re the only one like you in the world. Neither of us knows what makes you so special, why you’re so good at processing radiation, but you are.”  
  
Octavia looked up at her, and though she made no sound she could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks. She had learned to cry silently as a baby and had never quite broken the habit.  
  
“Oh, Octavia,” Moira said gently, her own eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry this is so hard for you. But just think- you could give such an amazing gift to the people here.”  
  
Octavia shook her head. She felt so hopeless, and it came through in her voice when she said, “It’s not a gift if you steal it.”  
  
Moira straightened up. She looked down at Octavia for a long moment, and then she turned for the door. Pausing as her hand touched the doorknob she said softly, “Eat. I won’t let you starve yourself.” Then she left the room.  
  
As soon as she was gone, Octavia threw her head back and screamed at the top of her lungs. She ripped the flimsy mattress off the bed and threw it, ripped the sheets down the middle and toppled the frame. She raged against the sparse furniture and pounded her fists on the walls. She smashed the bedside table, the tray of food, and didn’t stop until she fell to the floor, exhausted. She slept, but when she woke up she was still in her prison.  


The second time her eyes snapped open, she had no idea how much time had passed because the lights in the room didn’t change. She was acutely aware of being underground now, of how far away the sunlight was, how stifling it was to have recycled air in her lungs. Just like the Ark, only worse, because she had now tasted freedom. She thought she might go mad from the injustice of it.  
  
For a moment she wasn’t sure why she was awake, but then a knock came at the door- the second one, she realised. She stood up and pulled it open, and for a second she thought she really had gone mad- but she didn’t mind, if this was what madness was.  
  
Moira was standing there, but Octavia couldn’t care less because her brother was next to her, and he was looking as relieved as she felt.  
  
“Bellamy!” She threw herself into his arms with such force that he stumbled backward a step, but he was grinning. He seized her so tightly that she knew he was as happy as she was to be reunited, and she heard him let out a long breath of relief into her hair.  
  
Finally he pulled back and took her face in his hands, searching her eyes urgently, scanning her body up and down, looking for injuries. “You’re okay?” He seemed shocked, grateful, and she knew then that he’d been worrying himself sick about her having been drained of her blood or drilled through to the bone.  
  
She met his eyes, nodded. “I’m fine,” she assured him.  
  
“Octavia,” she heard Lincoln’s voice calling to her, and she turned to see him walking slowly down the hallway toward her, limping slightly, Echo trailing after him. Octavia ran to him, tackling him as she had Bellamy, kissing him deeply. She pulled back and her heart sank as she looked him over.  
  
“Look at you…” She took in his fading but still angry bruises, the bindings around his ribs, the splint that stabilised his shoulder. She hugged him again, being more careful this time. “I was afraid you were dead,” she admitted. Glancing back to her brother she added, “Both of you.”  
  
“We’re fine,” Bellamy assured her. Lincoln pulled Octavia close again, and over his shoulder, Echo gave Octavia a warm smile.  
  
Moira was watching the whole thing with a smile of her own, and it was only when the initial joy at seeing them again wore off that Octavia’s heart went cold. She stepped back from Lincoln and glared at Moira. “You _brought_ them here?”  
  
“No,” Moira assured her, shaking her head. “They came on their own.”  
  
Bellamy was looking into her room, and she could see his jaw clench as he took in the disheveled state of the place- the broken tray of food, ripped sheets, toppled furniture. She saw his thoughts like an open book as he whirled towards Moira, opening his mouth to demand an explanation.  
  
“I did it,” Octavia said quickly, stepping close to him. She glanced in the room- it did look awful, like a real struggle had occurred. She touched her brother’s arm lightly. “I did it, Bell.” He relaxed a little, but he still seemed unhappy.  
  
Only then did Octavia notice the child standing off to one side, a little girl who seemed to be watching them all with great interest. There was something about her that was off-putting; not just her unexpected presence there, but also the intensity of her blue eyes, as though she was looking into Octavia’s soul.  
  
“Maybe we should all go somewhere and talk?” Moira suggested.  
  
“No,” Octavia answered immediately. _“Not_ you. Just us. _You_ leave us alone.”  
  
“O.” Bellamy touched her arm lightly, his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“I’ll tell you once she goes,” Octavia said, still glaring at Moira.  
  
“You heard her,” Bellamy said, crossing her arms over his chest and glaring at the older woman.  
  
Moira stepped back. “I’ll be back soon,” she promised. “Lia, shall we talk?”  
  
“Yes, I think that would be wise,” the child spoke for the first time. She sounded a lot older than she looked. Octavia watched as the two of them moved away together, and then she took the other three into her room and shut the door.  
  
“Who was that?” she asked them, hastily putting her furniture back together so there would be places to sit.  
  
“She is a shadow child,” Echo answered. “She came to us a few days ago.”  
  
_“That’s_ who you were saying is so dangerous?” Octavia asked, surprised.  
  
“Don’t underestimate her,” Lincoln warned.  
  
Octavia exchanged a glance with Bellamy, who shrugged a little, clearly uncomfortable with the whole thing. He touched her arm. “So are you okay?” he asked. “Really- did they do something to you?”  
  
“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “Other than stopping me from leaving, they’ve been fine.” She let out a groan. “And now we’re _all_ stuck in here.”  
  
“The Ice Nation are allies to the mountains,” Echo said. “Lia- the shadow child- has assured us that we will have her protection to take you out.”  
  
Octavia felt a surge of hope. “Well then what the hell are we waiting for?”  
  
“Lia will be negotiating your release right now,” Lincoln said, wrapping an arm around Octavia’s shoulders. “We just have to be patient.”  
  
“My best quality,” Octavia said sarcastically. She saw her brother’s smile and couldn’t help one of her own. “Hey, how’s your leg?”  
  
“It’s fine,” he answered with a shrug. “Still a bit sore, but fine.”  
  
“When we didn’t get the medicine to you…” She trailed off, swallowed, remembering how much she’d feared his death.  
  
“It’s okay,” he assured her. “I’m fine. What about you? Haven’t they figured out what our blood does yet?”  
  
Octavia hesitated, and then she launched into an explanation of everything- she explained the communications between Mount Weather and Raven Rock, Moira’s integration program, the babies, and everything Moira had told her.  
  
Bellamy seemed considerably disturbed by the description of the nursery. “God,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s horrific.” He reached out and squeezed her arm. “But we’re getting you out of here- today.”  
  
“Why is it that your blood is superior to that of the other Sky People?” Echo spoke up.  
  
“I don’t know,” Octavia answered, shrugging. She looked at Bellamy. “Do you?”  
  
“No, and I don’t care,” he answered firmly. “They’re not getting their hands on your blood anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”  
  
“It’s probably a lie,” Octavia said. “Just to get me to stay here.”  
  
But Echo seemed disturbed by the revelation. “Perhaps,” she said, sounding unconvinced. Her concern seemed to trouble Lincoln as well, and for a moment there was only silence in the room as they all mulled it over.  
  
Before anyone else could theorise about it, the door opened. Moira looked happy, which was Octavia’s first clue that something was wrong.  
  
“Moira has agreed to release your sister,” Lia told Bellamy. She also looked pleased. “And now that we know she is safe, we can carry on to the Ice Nation.”  
  
Bellamy nodded to Moira and said politely, “Thank you.”  
  
“What’s the catch?” Octavia asked immediately, eyes narrowed in suspicion. It couldn’t be that easy.  
  
“You will be released in approximately three weeks,” Lia told her. “That will give the mountain enough time to retrieve what’s needed from your body. After that process is complete, you will be allowed to leave this place.”  
  
Octavia felt both Lincoln and Bellamy tense beside her, and her heart seized as her eyes flew to Moira. “So that’s it?” she asked, glaring at her. “You’re going to steal my marrow and blood after all?” Lincoln reached for her hand and gripped it tightly, as though afraid someone would pull her away right then.  
  
“No,” Bellamy snapped, standing up, his eyes dark. “That’ll kill her.”  
  
“Everyone just calm down,” Moira said sharply. “Firstly, bone marrow can be harvested in a non-lethal manner. Secondly, those aren’t the terms. We won’t touch your bones, Octavia- you have my word.”  
  
“Then what?” she asked. “My blood?”  
  
“No,” Lia spoke up. “The terms we have negotiated will give Raven Rock the rights to extract some of your ovum.”  
  
_“What?”_ Bellamy asked. He looked absolutely sick. “Are you _insane?”_  
  
“What is that?” Lincoln asked, not recognising the word.  
  
“My eggs,” Octavia said softly, her face pale. “So they can make babies that process the radiation better than anyone else… like I do.”  
  
“That’s right,” Moira said with a nod. “It’s a fair trade. You have hundreds of eggs, Octavia. The few we take could make such a wonderful difference here.”  
  
“No way,” Bellamy said savagely. _“Hell_ no.”  
  
“It is already done,” Lia said. “It has been agreed upon.”  
  
“But it’s _her_ body!” Bellamy exploded. “You can’t just _decide_ something like that!”  
  
“Bell,” Octavia said gently, touching his arm to calm him down, but he wouldn’t be calmed. She couldn’t blame him; she was just as horrified as he was. There was no _way_ she was going to let this happen, but her mind was racing.  
  
Lincoln and Echo also looked incredibly alarmed by this conversation. “What you’re talking about is impossible,” Lincoln said. “A child can’t be made like that.”  
  
Bellamy closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head. “Yes, it can, if you have the technology… it’s how we were made on the Ark. They controlled pregnancies closely… made sure there were no twins, no defects, that no one ‘subpar’ would take up resources…. we were all engineered.” He glanced at Octavia and added, “Well, except for you.”  
  
Moira looked up sharply. “What?”  
  
“What?” Bellamy repeated, catching her tone but not understanding the significance.  
  
“You just said that on the Ark they _engineered_ babies?”  
  
“Yeah.” Bellamy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “So what?”  
  
“Because that’s why,” Octavia said. All eyes looked to her, but she was looking at Moira. “That’s why I’m special… because I wasn’t made like that. Isn’t it?”  
  
“That makes the most sense,” Moira said with a nod. “Sometimes the best specimens come from a random reshuffling of genes rather than careful engineering.”  
  
“She’s not a _specimen,”_ Bellamy ground out. “And none of that matters because this is _not_ happening.”  
  
“Then she isn’t leaving,” Moira answered simply. She looked to Octavia. “Please…. this is a good deal.”  
  
Octavia felt sick, disgusted by the idea of someone harvesting something so precious from her, and even more disgusted by the idea of babies- _her_ babies- growing up in a prison. She hated doctors anyway because of her experience in the Sky Box, but this sounded even worse than what she’d endured in there. This was the last thing she wanted- if she ever chose to have children, she wanted them to be free.  
  
“I’m not doing it,” she said firmly.  
  
“You heard her,” Bellamy said, crossing his arms over his chest, glaring daggers at Moira. “She isn’t doing it. It’s her body and you can’t force-”  
  
_“Stop,”_ Lia interrupted, narrowing her eyes at both Blakes. “This was a negotiation between myself and Moira. These are the terms of release, and they are more than fair.” Her intense blue gaze slid to Octavia. “You can refuse if you wish, but you will not be released unless you agree, and _I_ will be the one to enforce the terms. The choice is yours.”  
  
But it wasn’t a choice at all.


	32. 32- Bellamy

Moira had left them alone to think about the terms of the so-called agreement, and Lia had gone with her. The four of them- Echo, Lincoln, Octavia, and Bellamy- were in the little room where Octavia had been staying inside the mountain. Octavia had forced Lincoln to lie down, and the man was obviously more exhausted than he let on because he had fallen asleep almost immediately. Echo politely stayed near his bedside in case he woke, giving Bellamy the opportunity to take Octavia to the other side of the room for a real discussion.  
  
“Have you had any luck finding any kind of door to the surface?” he asked first.  
  
Her blue eyes were indignant. “Would I still be here if I had?”  
  
Bellamy nodded. “Okay… well we need to find a way out, and now.”  
  
“I know that,” she answered impatiently, but he could see the underlying fear in her eyes, the hopelessness.  
  
“Hey,” he said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder, catching her eyes. “We’re going to get out of here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”  
  
Tentatively, she nodded. “I know.” Something still seemed to be bothering her though. He waited, knowing that sometimes she had to roll something around in her head for a minute before she could voice it. Sure enough, she looked back at him and said, “That thing about me… the radiation…”  
  
He shook his head firmly. “It doesn’t matter. You’re not giving them anything, O. No one here is going to let that happen.”  
  
“Except your shadow child friend,” she said dryly.  
  
Bellamy hesitated. “Yeah. Well, we’ll just have to find a way to deal with her.”  
  
“With how Lincoln and Echo talk, you wouldn’t think there _was_ a way to deal with her,” she said, her eyes sliding in the direction of the Grounders.  
  
He gritted his teeth for a moment. “We’ll find a way.”  
  
“Bellamy...” Octavia trailed off and didn’t seem to want to continue, but the way she said his name was odd and he knew she was trying to get to something important.  
  
“What?” he asked gently.  
  
When her eyes met his, her gaze was timid, almost frightened. “Do you know… I mean…” She sighed, shook her head and just blurted, “Who’s my father, Bell?”  
  
He froze. After more than seventeen years, she was asking this _now?_ Their mother had never invited the topic, but he’d always thought that one day she would ask him. Not in the middle of a crisis, though. Shaking his head he said, “Look, O… that’s not something we should get into right now.”  
  
“I know,” she said as they lost eye contact. “I just wondered.”  
  
“Because of the radiation thing?” he asked carefully.  
  
She nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know, I guess when we were talking about how I wasn’t engineered like everyone else, it made me wonder. I’ve always felt different for the way I was raised, but I never really thought about how I was different because of him.”  
  
Bellamy shifted uncomfortably, trying not to react to those words. “Not because of _him,”_ he said finally, unable to contain his distaste. “Because of _Mom._ He doesn’t matter.” Octavia’s father was a sore subject for him, for so many reasons.  
  
His sister shook her head, dropping her gaze to the floor. “Okay. Nevermind.”  
  
Bellamy felt a surge of guilt and he reached out, curling his fingers under her chin to tip it up so he could look her in the eyes. “Octavia. It’s okay to ask,” he assured her. “Really. But let’s figure out how we’re going to get out of this first, and then we’ll talk about it- I promise. Okay?”  
  
She smiled a little, nodded. “Yeah. Deal.”  
  
Bellamy was glad she seemed satisfied with that. The truth was, he felt totally overwhelmed, and Octavia’s father was not a subject he wanted to address right now. They had much bigger things to worry about.  
  
He had no idea how he was going to get her out of here in one piece, but he did know that he couldn’t let them get their hands on her- not a chance. He seriously considered just irradiating the whole facility like he and Clarke had done at Mount Weather. Just like then, Octavia was in trouble, and his first instinct was to protect her- to hell with the consequences. He couldn’t help but think of the vision Echo had given him.  
  
  
  
_“But how many bodies is too many?” he’d asked his mother, as he imagined them sitting together at the table in their quarters, little Octavia sleeping in the bunk nearby. “When is it too much?”_  
  
_She had reached for his arm and held it tightly, her voice full of firm resolve as she said,_ “Never. _It’s_ never _too much. Not if it means saving her life.”_  
  
  
  
But, just like in Mount Weather, there were kids here, and unlike Mount Weather, these people weren’t actively killing his friends. Yes, they wanted to hurt his sister, and of course he wouldn’t allow that, but otherwise it seemed like the whole place was fairly tame. So what was he supposed to do?  
  
Lia was an added problem. She had already given him a preview of what she was capable of, and there was no telling what she’d do if they went against her terms. She’d said Octavia had the right to refuse, but that if she did she would have to stay here, and there was no way anyone was going to let that happen.  
  
There was also another source of urgency, growing steadily larger: Clarke needed him. Now that he knew Octavia was alive and relatively safe- her current status as a prisoner notwithstanding- Clarke’s predicament pulled at him. He had to get out of this place and he had to go north, find her, make sure she was okay, and bring her back home. He just had to know that she was out of danger. So whatever was going to happen here, it had to happen fast.  
  
He thought through every possible option he could- killing everyone inside the mountain, exchanging himself for Octavia, taking Moira prisoner and threatening to shoot her if they didn’t let all of them leave, trying to turn Lia over to their side and get her to change the terms of the agreement so Octavia could go… he even considered letting Octavia go through with the procedure, then coming back on the way home from getting Clarke and destroying the mountain _then,_ so they could never use what they’d taken from his sister. But he knew they couldn’t afford to wait three more weeks, that Clarke might not have that time.  
  
None of his ideas were any good, and none of them were going to work. He felt helpless, edging on desperate, and he didn’t know what to do.  
  
“Bell!” Octavia’s voice broke through his thoughts, and from its urgency he realised she’d probably called to him more than once.  
  
“Sorry.” He shook his head, let out a frustrated breath.  
  
“So what are we going to do?” she asked him. He looked at her, wishing he had an answer- _any_ answer.  
  
Echo was watching him. Carefully she said, “We have very few options.”  
  
Octavia glanced at her, and then she looked at him again, and he knew she could see on his face that he had no idea what to do. “Leave me here,” she told him firmly. “I’ll be fine.”  
  
“No way,” he answered immediately, shaking his head. “No, you know what they’re going to do if you stay here.”  
  
Octavia shook her head. “No, that’s only if I leave… if I stay here, they won’t do that. They won’t take anything from me. Go and get Clarke, and then come back for me.” She touched his arm. “I’ll be fine.”  
  
“No,” he said again, shaking his head, his jaw tight. “I can’t leave you here. I’m not going anywhere without you… I don’t trust these people.”  
  
“Neither do I, but we don’t have a choice,” she said. “Clarke might be in worse trouble than me.”  
  
“She’s right,” Echo spoke up, her voice gentle. “There is no other option.”  
  
“You know it’s true, Bell,” Octavia said gently. She glanced at Echo, and then added, “Lincoln will stay with me. You know he won’t let them hurt me.”  
  
Bellamy hated it so much. He tried to think of a way out, an argument, but he couldn’t- there _was_ no alternative. Octavia and Echo were right, and he couldn’t stand it. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Lincoln, but that was about where his trust ended, and the idea of leaving his sister in a place like this went against everything he believed in, all that his mother had raised him to be.  
  
Eventually, squeezing his eyes shut, he said through gritted teeth, “Fine.” He felt defeated, totally crushed- he _hated_ this. He looked at his sister and said, “But I’m coming back for you, O. As soon as I have Clarke, I’m getting you out of here.”  
  
“I know, Bell,” she said gently, nodding her head.  
  
They woke Lincoln up and Octavia explained the plan to him. He agreed with it, grudgingly, but he seemed relieved that he was going to get to stay with Octavia, and as much as Bellamy detested all of this, he was glad that Lincoln would be watching over her. He knew she’d be safe; as much as he hated to see her locked up again, he knew it was only temporary.  
  
It wasn’t long before Moira and Lia returned. Bellamy watched Moira cross over to Octavia and give her a smile that seemed friendly, but he couldn’t help but hate this woman. Lia hung in the doorway- watching, waiting.  
  
“Have you made your decision?” Moira asked gently.  
  
Reluctantly, Octavia nodded. “I’ll stay,” she said, not making eye contact with her. “I’ll stay here with you.”  
  
“Oh, Octavia, you have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” Moira said, reaching out abruptly and hugging her close. Bellamy tensed, watching his sister squirm out of the woman’s grasp, but Moira didn’t seem concerned. “I know this is hard, but I promise you’ll have a good life here,” she said.  
  
It was revolting, but what was even worse was that they all had to go along with it. The disgust was clear on Octavia’s face as she said, “Lincoln’s going to stay with me.”  
  
The smile fell off Moira’s face and she said, “No.”  
  
“What?” Octavia asked, dumbfounded. No one was quite prepared for that, and Bellamy exchanged an uncertain glance with Echo.  
  
“I’ll willingly join your community to stay with her,” Lincoln explained carefully.  
  
“And while I appreciate that, I don’t want you here,” Moira said bluntly. “The whole point of her being here is so her genes are passed down to the next generation of _my_ people.”  
  
Lincoln looked taken aback and he stood up, wrapping an arm around Octavia. “But we belong to each other,” he protested.  
  
Moira’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Not anymore. I’m sorry, but it’s non-negotiable.”  
  
“Well then I’m _not_ staying,” Octavia growled.  
  
From the doorway Lia said, “We do not have time for this. We have already been delayed and we will be delayed again before this is over.” She looked at Bellamy and said, her eyes cold, “You have heard the terms. Do not try to negotiate further. Your sister remains here, and that is final. The only question is whether she stays here for life or whether she is released at the end of her procedure. Now _what_ is your decision?”  
  
“That she stays, but only if Lincoln stays with her,” Bellamy snapped, glaring at the girl. “I _won’t_ leave her here alone. He has to stay or no deal.”  
  
Lia’s eyes filled with rage and she moved so fast that nobody had a chance to stop her, or even realise what she was doing. It was only when Octavia started screaming that Bellamy’s eyes flew to her, and he saw that both she and Lincoln were crumpled over, covered in blood.  
  
Pandemonium erupted in that little room.  
  
Echo backed away from Lia with such haste that she stumbled against the bedside table and fell. Moira screamed and flattened herself against the wall, her hand flying to her mouth. Bellamy saw it all as if in slow motion, and it seemed to take forever for him to cross the short distance to his sister’s side, where he knelt beside her. The floor was now filled with a slowly expanding pool of blood, and he could feel it soaking through to his knees, hot and sticky.  
  
“What the hell did you _do?!”_ he yelled at Lia, but he was already grabbing at Octavia’s arms and hands, covered in blood, looking for the wounds.  
  
His sister wrenched away from him and she pressed her hands under Lincoln’s chin. His head was slumped in her arms, and she was desperately trying to stop the torrent of blood that was pouring from his neck. But Bellamy knew he was dead- the wound was huge and gaping, and had nearly decapitated him; his mouth had gone slack, his eyes unblinking. Octavia was trying to stop the bleeding, tears rolling down her cheeks as she screamed and screamed.  
  
Bellamy felt the colour draining from his face, but what he felt most guilty for was the relief that was mixed in with his horror and rage, the relief at knowing that it was not Octavia who’d been hurt- at least physically, she was fine. Tentatively he reached out and laid a hand on the back of her neck, squeezing lightly, his other hand closing over her shoulder as he tried, gently, to pull her away from Lincoln’s body.  
  
“Octavia,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “God… I’m so sorry, O… he’s gone.”  
  
She jerked away from him, launched to her feet, fists clenched, eyes full of what looked like something close to insanity. She bared her teeth at Lia as her lips curled back in fury, and both Bellamy and Echo seemed to realise at the same moment that she was about to attack. In unison, they reached up and each of them grabbed one of Octavia’s arms, stopping her.  
  
She struggled, but Bellamy wrapped her up in his arms and dragged her as far away from Lia as he could get her, holding her close to his chest, trying to use his body to shield her- from Lia, from the bloody mess that used to be Lincoln… from everything. Octavia stopped fighting and collapsed against him, weeping, still screaming, her hands knotting in his shirt. He tucked her head under his chin and felt his own tears welling up. He knew he would never forget the sound of his sister’s heart breaking, while all he could do was hold her tightly in his arms.  
  
He stared over Octavia’s head at Lia- that so-called little girl- and his eyes were wide, his mind having trouble processing all that had just happened: the horror and terrible pain that Lia had just caused, the bloody knife still clasped in her little hand, the completely calm expression on her face that struck him as the most disturbing part. Now he believed every word that Echo had said about shadow children… only now it was too late.  
  
Lia wiped Lincoln’s blood on a corner of the bed sheet and returned the blade to her belt. “I have solved your problem,” she said calmly, meeting his eyes. “I will allow you some time to mourn together, but then we _will_ leave.” Looking to Moira she ordered, “Come with me.”  
  
Moira could barely contain her nerves as she stuttered out an agreement and, casting one last fearful look in their direction, she left the room with Lia.  
  
Echo let out a gulp and Bellamy saw her sink slowly to the floor, her head in her hands, her body trembling with obvious terror. He could only imagine how she must have felt- to be told of the danger of shadow children her whole life, like stories about the boogeyman, and then to see it play out right in front of her like _that._ But he didn’t have time to comfort her.  
  
His only thoughts were for Octavia. “Shshsh,” he whispered. “It’s okay… it’s okay…” It wasn’t, not even close, but the words seemed to soothe her, and slowly he felt her settling down. Her sobs turning to hiccups, then to silence, her body’s shakes gradually dissipated, and then she lay still in his arms, slumped against him. Gently he tilted her chin up, but when he caught sight of her eyes they were flat, her whole expression numb. He was looking into her face, but it was not his sister who was looking back.


	33. 33- Clarke

“We are going on a journey,” Elody announced when Clarke was brought to her chambers.  
  
“A journey?” Clarke asked, trying not to get too excited, but it was hard not to when she heard what came next.  
  
“Yes,” the queen confirmed. “Now that we are allies, I believe I should go with you and meet the rest of your people. I’m sure they will welcome me as a guest.” It was not a question.  
  
Clarke’s heart was soaring. “Yes, of course,” she said, nodding her head. “And the pharmaceuticals? If we could bring some of those, that would be so helpful to my people. We have very little in the way of supplies, and those drugs could save so many lives.”  
  
“And what will you give to me in return?” Elody asked.  
  
“I’m sure something can be arranged.” Maybe all this wouldn’t be for nothing; if she could bring medicine- _real_ medicine- to her people, then this alliance would be more than worth all the torture she’d endured.  
  
“Wonderful,” the queen said with a nod. “We should leave today, for Polis.”  
  
“Polis?” Clarke asked, recognising the name. “How long will it take to get there?”  
  
“Only a day,” Elody said with a shrug.  
  
“What?” Clarke was surprised. She had assumed Polis was in _Trikru_ land, not in the Ice Nation. “Where is it?”  
  
“I can show you on a map if you like,” Elody said, going to a drawer in one of her cabinets and pulling out a long roll of parchment. She spread it open on her desk and pointed. “We are here- Tawa.” The area where she indicated was on a river, as she’d told Clarke previously, and there seemed to be several huge lakes not too far away. Then she pointed quite a bit southwest from where Tawa was, and said, “And that is Polis.”  
  
Clarke’s father had taught her how to read maps, so she frowned as she looked at the distance, not to mention the terrain, between the two cities. “That looks a lot farther than a day’s horseback ride,” she said skeptically.  
  
Elody laughed, perhaps the first laugh Clarke had ever heard from her lips, and she said, “We are not going by _horse._ That would take nearly two months.” She rolled the map back up and tucked it away. Clarke wished she’d had longer to look at the document- it had laid out all sorts of clans and territories, and if she was able to get her hands on something like that, it could be invaluable to her people. She made a mental note to add it to her list of things to negotiate for.  
  
What the queen said next made her stop in her tracks. “We will take the train.”  
  
“The… train?” Clarke managed, totally shocked. Suddenly something Lexa had said came back to her, and she could still hear the softness in her voice as she said, _Polis will change the way you think about us._  
  
“Are you afraid of trains?” Elody asked, breaking through her thoughts.  
  
Clarke blushed a little. “No, I’ve never seen one. I just didn’t know you had one.”  
  
“The world is large. We can’t go everywhere by horseback.”  
  
It was a good point, but Clarke just hadn’t thought about it before. She couldn’t help but feel a pang as she thought about travelling to Polis- Lexa was supposed to take her to there, and maybe if she hadn’t betrayed her, things might have happened that way. If she hadn’t betrayed her, everything would be different. But now she would be going there with Elody, and that was just the way it was.  
  
“If we go to Polis, won’t that be risky?” she asked, trying to delicate. “If you’ve broken your alliance with Lexa, will you be welcome there?”  
  
“I can go wherever I want to go,” Elody said curtly. “Lexa is no concern of mine.”  
  
It was clear she’d offended her, so Clarke dropped the subject. Instead she said, “When are we leaving?”  
  
“Now,” Elody answered. “Fetch your things, and your attendant, and we will depart for Polis as soon as you are ready.”  
  
Clarke nodded her head and started for the door, but she paused; the now-familiar shadow of her guard did not fall into step with her. She cast Elody an inquisitive glance.  
  
“I believe you are more keen for this journey than me,” the queen explained. “You no longer need to be watched.”  
  
“Thank you,” Clarke said. “I appreciate you trusting me.”  
  
“See that it is not misplaced,” Elody warned, and Clarke nodded to her before leaving the room. She went right back to her own chamber and told Yana what was happening.  
  
“The train!” the girl exclaimed with obvious excitement. “It has always been a dream of mine to ride the train. I’m so happy that I was chosen to serve you, Clarke of the Sky People.”  
  
“Hey, you don’t serve me,” Clarke said gently. “We’re friends, remember?”  
  
Yana smiled, but she seemed to be more amused by that comment than particularly convinced. “Come here, I will fix your hair,” she said.  
  
Clarke sat down in the chair and Yana moved up behind her, combing through her soft blonde waves before starting to section off braids. Her fingers were nimble and quick, and before long Clarke’s hair was tight across her scalp, the braids curving in front of her ears and hanging down by her neck in a style that Yana seemed to favour.  
  
“This will be your first appearance outside the Ice Nation, now that you are our ally,” Yana said, coming around to the front of Clarke and inspecting her handiwork carefully. “I must make sure you look perfect.”  
  
Clarke couldn’t help but smile at the girl’s enthusiasm. Yana took out a small box that had a few compartments, each one containing a different shade of kohl. Carefully she laid down a base of black, sweeping careful lines from Clarke’s cheeks forward, across her cheekbones, and partway under her eyes. She edged her eyes in black as well, before finishing it off with a few sweeps of blue.  
  
“You look formidable,” she said with a satisfied nod. “Where is your coat?”  
  
“There, by the fire,” Clarke told her, motioning to the peg where she’d hung Elody’s elaborate gift of leather and fur. Yana brought it over and helped Clarke on with it, fastening all the buttons and smoothing out the sleeves, hooking the eyelets over her thumbs and cinching it at the wrists. She knelt down and checked the laces on Clarke’s boots, which reached halfway to her knees, and then she stepped back and admired her work.  
  
“Now I see you as you are,” she said, the respect obvious in her voice. “You are _Skaikruheda._ You are _Wanheda.”_  
  
“I don’t want that,” Clarke said firmly. “Please… just call me by my name.”  
  
Yana seemed confused, but she bowed her head in assent. “Very well, Clarke.”  
  
  
  
Clarke was surprised at the fact that the train looked exactly like ones she’d seen in old photos and paintings; somehow she’d expected it to be different. For the first time in a very long time, she wished she had paper and pencils so she could draw what she was seeing.  
  
As the train started to move south, she only felt that desire growing. Everything they passed, whether man-made or natural, was fascinating, breathtaking. She felt like a child staring out at the world in absolute wonder. They passed rivers, lakes, mountains, forests, meadows, waterfalls, and occasionally villages or small settlements. The contrast between their train and the primitive communities they passed was striking, and for some reason she couldn’t quite pinpoint, it made her uncomfortable. She couldn’t shake the memories of her earliest days on Earth, when she and Bellamy were still at odds- how he and the other kids that would become her friends had looked at her then, knowing she was from the privileged class. She wondered what they would think of her now.  
  
Occasionally when they passed an area inhabited by people, sometimes there would be curious Grounders standing near the tracks, ready to watch the train pass by. The children often waved, and Clarke waved back. Yana was as excited as she was, and together the two of them marveled at everything. It had been so long since Clarke had felt her age, yet with Yana by her side, her enthusiasm contagious, Clarke acted more like the teenager she really was.  
  
“This journey agrees with you,” Elody remarked a few hours into the ride. Yana was dozing nearby, but Clarke’s eyes were still fixed on the landscape. “Your cheeks are pinker.”  
  
“I’m looking forward to seeing my people again,” Clarke answered, smiling warmly at the queen. “And to bringing them news of this alliance and all the good it will do for us.”  
  
“And then what?” Elody asked her. “Where will you settle, now that your heart is on firmer ground?”  
  
The smile faded from Clarke’s lips and she turned her eyes out the window, watching where the alpine forests, the white snow on the ground, was giving way to softer greens. “I don’t know,” she admitted.  
  
“Your people established a camp based purely on random chance, did they not?” the queen asked. “Their village is centred around their crash site. And yet that is not your land- it belongs to _Trikru._ Do you think they will let you stay there forever?”  
  
Clarke shifted uncomfortably, feeling all the carefree optimism of a few minutes ago fading away. “I don’t know,” she said again. “I’ve been gone so long… I don’t know what relations are like between Camp Jaha and the _Trikru.”_  
  
Her heart was suddenly seized by fear- what had happened while she was gone? What if Lexa hadn’t just betrayed her, but come back to wage war on the Sky People? _Would_ she just let them leave peacefully at Camp Jaha, when it had technically been built on her land? What if she got there and everyone was dead?  
  
“Why did your people not move into the mountain after it fell?”  
  
Despite her uncertainty about all the possibilities of what could have happened after she left, she knew that relocating into Mount Weather wouldn’t be one of them. She shook her head and said firmly, “I hope they took supplies from that place, maybe even converted some of it into a hospital, but my people would never have gone in there to live. We were all raised in a metal box floating through space. All we’ve ever wanted was to live under the sky.”  
  
“And what if you were offered land of your own?” Elody asked, her dark eyes looking intently into Clarke’s. “Would you accept such a gift?”  
  
Clarke was taken aback. Carefully she said, “I would consider it gratefully.”  
  
“Then consider it,” Elody said. “There is ample land- fertile land- to the east of Tawa. You and your people could be safe and prosperous there.”  
  
“I appreciate that,” Clarke answered. “Thank you so much. I promise you, it will be the first thing I bring up when I see my people again.”  
  
Elody nodded her head. Softly she said, “I do not have children, Clarke. I must look at other ways of expanding my empire… and of ensuring that someone competent leads it after I am gone.”  
  
Clarke held her breath. Was she saying…?  
  
Before she could respond, the queen said, “Wait until you’ve seen your people. Then we will talk.” She nodded her head to Clarke, and then she left her alone.  
  
Turning her eyes back to the view outside, Clarke’s mind was racing. She hardly knew what to think, but she couldn’t help but feel hopeful. Months ago, she was still on the Ark, with only a dream of the Earth. Weeks ago, she was killing and then being tortured. Days ago, she was a prisoner. Now, she was travelling home to see her people, with boxes of medicine and a true offer of alliance.  
  
What would tomorrow bring?


	34. 34- Bellamy

Echo had covered Lincoln with Octavia’s sheets, but Bellamy knew that could only be a temporary measure. Already the blood was soaking through the white linen, crimson and ugly. Once she had covered the body, she approached Bellamy with a bowl of water, which she set down next to him, handing him a clean cloth. Her brown eyes met his, and he watched as her gaze flickered to Octavia for a moment. His sister remained slumped against his chest, still and numb. He was glad that her back was facing Lincoln.  
  
“Can you…” he trailed off, not wanting to say the words out loud, but Echo seemed to understand what was left unsaid. She moved away and started mopping up the blood, which had long since pumped itself out of Lincoln’s neck until there was more on the floor than in his body.  
  
Bellamy took Octavia by the shoulders and peeled her back from his chest, sitting her up a little. She allowed him to move her, not fighting or helping him either, just allowing herself to be posed. She was like a sad little puppet- limp, empty. He knew she was in shock.  
  
“Okay,” he said softly, gently unzipping the white sweatshirt she was wearing and pushing it back off her shoulders. There wasn’t much he could do about the cotton tank top she wore underneath, which had also been stained, but her sweatshirt had taken the worst of it. He tossed the shirt to Echo, who added it to the pile of bloody linens.  
  
Dipping the cloth into the water, Bellamy picked up Octavia’s arm and cradled it in his lap. He started to wash the blood off her skin, slowly and methodically, his eyes flickering to her face every once in a while, searching for a reaction- _any_ reaction- but her expression stayed blank.  
  
When Octavia had been a toddler and water rations had been sufficient, he had helped his mother bathe her in a bucket in the middle of their quarters. Octavia had loved it, splashing and laughing that soft little laugh she had- the laugh of a baby who knew how to be quiet. As he tenderly bathed her arms and hands now, working the blood from the beds of her fingernails and the creases in her palms, he felt himself longing for that baby she once was.  
  
Back then, it had been such a simple task to protect her. She was so little, so easy to care for, so easy to entertain. Her world had been so small, and she hadn’t been old enough to realise it yet, not wise enough to wish for something bigger. He’d also been young enough himself, then, that he could have fun with her, without necessarily worrying so much about the reality of their lives. The world sat lighter on his shoulders at that age, despite the responsibility his mother had placed in his arms along with Octavia, only seconds after she was born.  
  
Things were so much harder now, and the world was so much vaster. He had learned to let her go, with Lincoln, but now look what had come of that. All he wanted to do now was fold her in his arms and never let her out of his sight ever again. He wanted to hold onto her like a vice with one hand, and fend off every danger on Earth- and every _potential_ danger- with the other. He tried to fight that urge, but it was so hard.  
  
Finally he couldn’t stand the silence. “Hey, O,” he said softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper. She didn't look at him, didn't acknowledge that he'd spoken. He finished washing the blood from the last finger on her left hand and said with forced cheeriness, “There we go… all clean.”  
  
He saw her eyes flicker to her hand, saw her clean fingers curl into her palm, and then fresh tears slipped down her cheeks. She was silent, and not a single muscle in her face twitched as she wept. He laid his palm against her cheek and tried to get her to meet his eyes, but she wouldn’t do it- stubborn, always. At least that part of her was still awake.  
  
Echo had finished mopping up the blood as best she could and she had left the room, but now she returned with an armful of fresh linens, new clothes for Octavia, and a few pieces of rope. Bellamy had no idea where she’d gotten any of it, but he was glad at least that she was handling what needed to be done. He started on Octavia’s second arm, watching carefully over his sister’s shoulder as Echo laid the sheets down on the floor, rolled Lincoln’s body onto them, wrapped him up, and then used two sections of rope to tie the sheets tightly around his neck and ankles. She tossed the rest of the rope and the extra sheets aside and then left the room again.  
  
Seeing Lincoln like that, shrouded and still, Bellamy felt such a mix of pain- for Octavia, for losing her first love and what her future might have been with him; for Lincoln, for the loss of his life and the pain he'd had to endure; and for Bellamy himself, for the loss of a good friend, and for the knowledge that it would up to him to pick up the pieces that Lincoln’s death had left behind.  
  
Lincoln had done so much for them, but now he was just gone. And to be killed so unceremoniously, so cruelly, so quickly… it still seemed unbelievable.  
  
Bellamy was halfway done washing Octavia’s right arm when Echo reappeared with two guards in tow. They lifted Lincoln’s body, one at either end, and the sound of them struggling drew Octavia’s attention for the first time. Bellamy tried to stop her from turning her head, laying his hands on her cheeks, but she pulled away from him and whirled. Seeing Lincoln being lifted up from the floor, her eyes seemed to grow angry and frightened all at once. Bellamy watched her take in the sight- the blood gone, Lincoln wrapped up and hidden from view, his body heavy and unmoving in the arms of the guards.  
  
Her reaction was so swift and furious that he didn’t have a chance to do anything until she was already on her feet and attacking the guards, trying to stop them from taking Lincoln. She didn’t speak, she just screamed, ripping their hands away from his body with her nails. They dropped Lincoln in surprise and she caught him, but his body was heavy. She managed to cradle his head as he slumped back onto the floor, dropping to her knees with him in her arms. Bellamy rushed over, but as she started to untie the rope at Lincoln’s neck, he reached out to stop her.  
  
“No, Octavia, you don’t want to do that,” he warned her, closing his hands over hers. “Please, just… don’t. You don’t want to remember him like that. Please.”  
  
She didn’t immediately respond, but her hands stilled under his grip and she made no further effort to untie the knots. When he gently pulled her away from Lincoln’s body, she let him. Her voice was raw when she said, “I already do.” The pain in her blue eyes when she looked at him made him feel a physical ache in his heart. “I already remember him like that.”  
  
Bellamy just gazed at her for a long moment. Echo was watching them, and he saw the sympathy in her eyes.  
  
He just nodded his head at his sister and then he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “I know,” he murmured. “I know.” He felt her tuck her chin into the side of his neck, felt her fingers anchor in his hair and hold on tightly, felt his shoulder grow wet with her tears. He let her cling to him, just giving her whatever comfort he could. He nodded to the guards, and again they lifted Lincoln’s body into their arms. This time Octavia didn’t stop them when they carried him out of the room.  
  
Echo remade the bed, righted the furniture, and soon it looked like nothing had happened in there. It was eerie, but Bellamy was glad Octavia wouldn’t have to look at the carnage anymore. He finished washing her other arm and Echo handed him the fresh clothes she’d brought- a plain cotton shirt and soft pants, like something you’d sleep in.  
  
“Here, O, change into these,” he urged gently, pressing the clothes into her hands. He just wanted her to be rid of every reminder possible of what had just happened. He knew that wouldn’t erase the horror of it all, but he couldn’t imagine how terrible it must be to be caked in the blood of someone you loved. He just wanted her clean, and then they could work on getting her through this.  
  
Hollowly, she nodded her head. He stood up, offering her a hand, which she took. He led her back to her bed and sat her down, watching as her eyes swept over the last couple of sheets that hadn’t been needed to wrap the body, the pristine bed, the remainder of the rope Echo had used, and the clean floor that had only just been covered in Lincoln’s blood. She didn't look like she believed any of it was real.  
  
Bellamy crouched in front of her and took her hands in his, squeezing them tightly. “I’m going to be right outside,” he promised her. “I’ll be back as soon as you’re changed.”  
  
Octavia nodded again. She licked her lips and whispered, "It's okay, Bell." Her voice was so numb and strange that it made him briefly squeeze his eyes closed against it.  
  
“I’m going to be right back,” he repeated, wanting her to take that in- that he wasn’t leaving her. “Okay?”  
  
Again, she nodded. He started to stand, but she laid a hand quickly over his, stopping him. He looked into her eyes, and he thought they seemed just a little more animated than before.  
  
“I can stay,” he offered. “I can just turn around.”  
  
“No,” she said, her voice soft. “No, it’s fine… go.” Lightly, her fingers traced a meaningless pattern over the back of his hand. He stayed still, letting her do whatever she needed to do. Finally, after a long silence, she looked at him again and said, quietly, “I love you.”  
  
He just nodded his head, laced his fingers through hers, squeezed, and said once more, “I’ll be right back.”  
  
Her eyes watched him all the way to the door, so he made sure to seem confident, strong, but as soon as he was outside and the door was shut, he looked at Echo and he just felt his whole face collapse. He couldn’t help but feel totally powerless. He had watched his sister’s world implode and all he could do was wash the aftermath from her hands. It made him feel helpless, like a failure.  
  
Echo approached him but he waved her off, feeling tears welling up and not wanting Octavia to hear him cry. He was not as skilled at silence as she was.  
  
Echo followed him down the corridor a short way, where he turned the corner and leaned his forehead against the wall, taking deep breaths to keep his tears from falling. He felt Echo’s hand land on his back, rubbing gently, and he accepted that comfort without comment.  
  
Finally he pulled in a shaky breath and pushed himself back from the wall, meeting her eyes. “I should have listened to you,” he said miserably.  
  
“It would not have made a difference,” she said, and he was relieved that even if she was thinking ‘I told you so,’ she chose not to voice it. “If a shadow child decides to kill, people die.”  
  
“We can’t stay with her,” he said, just the thought of it- of Octavia having to travel with the person who’d killed Lincoln- making him sick.  
  
“And yet we must,” Echo reminded him. “We have no choice.”  
  
“Fine, but we can’t leave Octavia in this goddamn place,” Bellamy insisted.  
  
Echo was silent for a long moment. Finally, tenderly, she said again, “And yet we must. We will come back for her in three weeks.”  
  
“No way,” he snapped, his jaw clenching in anger. “Are you insane? I’m _not_ leaving her here.”  
  
“If you do not, then the shadow child may kill one of _us_ next to ensure that she gets what she wants,” Echo told him firmly. “And if we do not keep moving, then Clarke may die. There is still the Ice Nation’s bounty to fulfill before we can begin to head north. We do not know if Clarke is safe, or what her circumstances are. Don’t be a fool, Bellamy- we are helpless here. It is distasteful, but your sister will be safe in this mountain for the next three weeks, and then you will come back here and liberate Octavia- and Clarke will be beside you.”  
  
When she reminded him about Clarke, the danger she was likely facing, he felt completely torn. Now that he’d seen Lia in action, he was even more afraid of what might be happening to Clarke. He knew they had to find her, and soon, but how could he leave his sister here, to be experimented on like a lab rat?  
  
He drew in a deep breath, letting it out long and shaky. “Octavia and I need some time alone,” he told her, then promised, “I’ll think about everything you said.”  
  
“Do not underestimate Lia, or test her patience,” she warned him.  
  
“I won’t,” he said. He knew he wouldn’t- not ever again. He reached out abruptly and pulled Echo close to him, just hanging onto her, not sure if this was for her benefit or his. She seemed to appreciate it though, her arms snaking around him and squeezing him back tightly. A long moment passed, and then he let go of her, giving her a soft smile before heading back around the corner and up the corridor toward Octavia’s room.  
  
He knocked lightly on the door, and when she didn’t answer he just let out a long breath, readying himself to be strong for her, and then he pushed the door open.  
  
At first it was like his mind didn’t believe what he was seeing, like there was some kind of interruption between the visual input of his eyes and the processing part of his brain.  
  
Then he registered it all at once: Octavia’s body in the middle of the room, suspended from the light fixture by the length of rope Echo had left behind, her limbs gone limp, her head slumped forward, the rope tight around her neck. Her face was white.  
  
The recognition of all that took only a second, but it took what felt like an eternity for him to run across the room and grab her by the legs, pushing her upward, taking the pressure off her neck. He heard someone screaming her name, but he didn’t immediately recognise his own voice.  
  
Echo rushed into the room and her face blanched as she saw what was happening. Hastily she climbed up on the bed and started pulling at the knot that connected the rope to the light, but it was done up so tightly that even with Bellamy supporting most of Octavia’s weight, the rope was still taut enough that it was hard for her to loosen it.  
  
“Hurry up!” Bellamy shouted at her. “Oh God… hurry, goddammit, hurry!”  
  
Suddenly he saw Lia standing in the doorway, and he wished he could kill her- child or not, he wanted to murder her, imagined every type of death there was in that moment and wished he could inflict her with each one. But, holding Octavia, he was helpless to stop Lia as she walked across the room towards them, and he feared now for Echo’s life too. Then she surprised both of them by simply holding out her knife, handle first, and Echo grabbed it and used it to quickly saw through the rope.  
  
Octavia’s entire weight fell into Bellamy’s arms and he eased her to the ground, loosening the rope around her neck and pulling it off, hurling it aside as he grabbed her face in his hands, shaking her, trying to wake her up.  
  
“Help me!” he yelled desperately- shouting at everyone and no one. He laid Octavia down again and he tilted her head back, opening her mouth and leaning down to breathe into her lips.  
  
“There is no point in trying to revive her,” Lia spoke up.  
  
“You _shut up,”_ he said savagely, placing his hands on Octavia’s sternum and trying to start her heart with desperate pushes deep into her chest.  
  
“Leave us!” he heard Echo snap, but Lia just stood there, as though Echo hadn’t spoken at all. Instead of going anywhere, Lia just watched him working on Octavia with a look of fascination on her face. But Bellamy hardly noticed her.  
  
“Come on, O, come on, please, _please,”_ he said urgently, breathing into Octavia’s mouth again then going back to the chest compressions. “Will you _help_ me?!” he snapped at Echo, frantically, as she made no move to assist him. Hopelessly he groaned, “Oh God, why did you leave that rope in here?”  
  
Slowly it came to him that there was a reason Echo wasn’t helping- Octavia lay motionless and still on the floor, and nothing he was doing was making a single bit of difference. That understanding hit him like a punch in the stomach, and he rocked back onto his knees, gasping for breath, raking his fingers through his hair, unable to accept what was happening. But he had to.  
  
“Oh God,” he howled, the tears starting now, belatedly, a torrent down his face. “Why did I leave her alone? Octavia…” He leaned in again, touched her cheeks, swept the hair back from her face, tried to coax her to open her eyes, but nothing he did elicited any kind of response. “God, O, please, no, please don’t do this…”  
  
But it was already done. Echo didn’t approach him, and she didn’t try to touch him either. She just watched as he pulled Octavia into his arms and curled himself around her, sobbing into her hair, a raw and agonising sound that came out of the deepest well of grief that he had. He wanted more than anything to die, but even that would take a phenomenal amount of effort, and right now he couldn’t even move.  
  
From the doorway, Lia said calmly, “Time to go.”


	35. 35- Clarke

The train slowed as they reached the outskirts of Polis, and Clarke looked out the window curiously as they snaked along a wide river that was surprisingly straight. The first thing she noticed was huge looming concrete shapes, a few tall and skinny, others squat and sloping outward like big vases. White smoke plumed from the top of every one of them.  
  
“What are those?” Yana asked from behind her.  
  
“I don’t know,” Clarke admitted.  
  
Both girls turned their eyes to Elody, who smiled and explained, “It is a power plant. It eats coal and powers the city. The train also runs on coal, and its supplies will be replenished here.”  
  
“Wait,” Clarke said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Are you saying there’s _electricity_ in Polis?”  
  
With a soft smile Elody said, “I know you have made assumptions about the clans, but I think Polis may change many of them.”  
  
Again Clarke heard Lexa’s voice in her mind saying, _Polis will change the way you think about us._  
  
With a small smile she said, “I think you’re right. How long will it take us to get from here to Camp Jaha?” She assumed that the rest of their journey would now have to involve horses.  
  
But Elody surprised her again by saying, “We aren’t going to Camp Jaha.”  
  
“Why not?” Clarke asked hesitantly.  
  
“I sent my messenger to speak with Bellamy as you asked. She is with him now, and they are on their way here because they plan to travel to Tawa to see you. We will meet up with them in Polis instead.”  
  
Clarke felt so many emotions in that moment- disbelief, confusion, excitement, and- shamefully- fear. Knowing she would see Bellamy so soon, she couldn’t help but be afraid and uncertain, wondering what their reunion would be like. She wanted desperately to see him again, but she was scared of what she would learn, how he would look at her, whether he would blame her for all these months she’d been gone. It had been so long since they’d stood in the same space, all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him, knowing that somehow that would make everything okay. But what if he didn’t forgive her, didn’t allow her to even come near him? Could she live through that?  
  
“Clarke,” Elody said gently, pulling her from her thoughts. “What troubles you?”  
  
“Nothing,” she lied, forcing a smile. “I just didn’t expect all this.”  
  
“Perhaps you should rest,” she suggested, her voice sympathetic. “There is an inn where we will be staying. I have much to do, but your guards will take you there.” She waved over the two burly men who she’d assigned to protect Clarke, and together with Yana, Clarke allowed herself to be led away.  
  
The rooms in this particular inn were quite luxurious, which didn’t really surprise Clarke considering the fact that the queen herself frequented the place. Clarke and Yana were given a shared room, and both girls immediately crawled into their beds for a nap. Clarke expected to toss and turn, but the mattress was soft and comfortable, and she was asleep almost immediately.  
  
  
  
_She was standing with Bellamy near the gates of Camp Jaha. She could see her mother inside, on a stretcher, being tended to by Jackson and the other medics. She was watching her mother closely, trying to memorise every line and curve of her face- trying to remember Abby like this… just safe here, not knowing that her daughter was leaving her behind- again._  
  
_Bellamy didn’t know yet either. He had only just come to stand next to her. Telling Monty had been easy, but telling Bellamy… that was what she dreaded most. She felt the cold air on her face and neck, and for a moment she just stood next to him, savouring this moment- the two of them together, standing close, victorious and broken. Maybe for the last time._  
  
_He offered her a drink- why hadn’t she just taken it- his invitation? Why hadn’t she just gone inside those gates and sat down with him? They could have taken it day by day, got through it together, like he wanted._  
  
_She tried to go inside, tried to stop herself from telling him goodbye, but it was like she was trapped in her own body, forced to go through the motions of something she no longer believed in._  
  
_He promised her forgiveness, and she saw the rawness of the look he gave her, the ragged hope that she would just accept it, come inside with him, and start the rest of their lives together. Only she couldn’t do it. Once, she had said those same words to him, and it had been enough. He had accepted her forgiveness then, but when he said those words back to her now, she couldn’t do the same. Her self-loathing was so much bigger than his mercy._  
  
_All she could do was walk away, into the trees, with nothing but a handgun, an excuse, and her own cowardice. Of all the horrible things she had done, it was ironic that the one thing she did out of guilt rather than desperation- leaving Bellamy behind- felt the most wrong._  
  
  
  
Clarke’s eyes snapped open and she drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. What had that dream meant? Other than to torture her, what was the point of going over that moment again, of having to rehash it with no hope of being able to change anything? If she couldn’t make things right even in her own mind, how was she going to make things right when she saw him again?  
  
She rolled over and saw that Yana’s bed was empty next to hers. She pushed her blankets back and stood up, and that’s when she noticed a flash and realised there was a small mirror set into the wall.  
  
Creeping slowly towards it, Clarke was holding her breath, and her eyes were on the floor until she reached it. She put one hand on either side of the mirror, letting out her breath and then pulling it in again. Slowly she raised her eyes and saw herself-  
  
-intricate braids woven across her head, lines of colour accentuating her eyes in a powerful way, and a hard, determined glint in her eyes that she couldn’t remember ever seeing on the Ark.  
  
Clarke stared into her own gaze for what felt like forever, but even after all that time, she was still no closer to recognising who she’d become.


	36. 36- Bellamy

It all happened so fast, once it was over- with Lincoln dead, Octavia dead, Moira seemed to feel she had no choice but to let them go. She was hysterical with apology, but Bellamy didn’t hear a word she said. He couldn’t even look at her without wanting to murder her, and so he just lifted Octavia’s body into his arms and carried her out of that place. Nobody stopped him; Moira even led the way to the exit, sending guards to carry Lincoln out with them. Maybe she felt it was the least she could do, after everything that had happened.  
  
Outside, the sun was bright, and the air was clean and sweet. They were surrounded by grasslands, interrupted here and there with mountains and fragmented patches of forest, and he could hear birds singing, wind rippling through the meadows. It seemed insulting, like it should be raining and gloomy, gray and dismal. How could the world be such a beautiful place when Octavia wasn’t in it anymore?  
  
Moira had returned their horses to them, and had also given them a cart, which her guards had fastened to one of the horses before leaving them alone. Lincoln’s body was in the cart, but Bellamy refused to place Octavia beside him.  
  
“We must keep moving,” Lia said, her voice severe. “We must get out of sight of the mountain. Put her in the cart and get on your horse.”  
  
“No,” Bellamy whispered, even though Octavia was heavy and his arms ached, even though every glimpse of her expressionless face broke his heart.  
  
Lia walked over to him and her eyes seemed to spit fire as she looked up at him, biting out, “Do. As. I. Say.”  
  
Echo hurried over to Bellamy and gently she pried his hands from Octavia, taking her weight from his grip. His arms ratcheted upward as she took his sister away from him, and he gulped against the tears that rose in his throat, threatening to choke him. He didn’t know how he was still alive.  
  
“Get on your horse,” Lia said again, going to her own.  
  
Bellamy didn’t move, but once Octavia was laid gently in the cart, Echo returned to his side and she took his forearm, gently maneuvering him to their horse. He slid onto its back mechanically, and barely recognised Echo’s body pressed against his as she climbed up behind him.  
  
“We must get out of sight of the mountain,” Lia said again, addressing Echo now.  
  
The horses started moving across the meadow, towards the treeline, and it only took about fifteen minutes to reach the forest.  
  
“We have to get Clarke,” Bellamy said, suddenly unable to think of anything but that. He needed Clarke, now more than ever, needed her by his side, needed to see that she was safe and alive. He couldn’t lose her too... not when she was all he had left.  
  
As the horses continued to move across the grasslands, Bellamy didn’t know or care where they were going, as long as it would lead them to Clarke. His eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing, and his mind soon became strangely blank, as though he had no thoughts at all. The trees around them were soft and green and smelled sweetly of cedar, and a layer of pine needles and soft earth muffled the horse’s hooves beneath them, but he barely noticed any of it.  
  
He only felt a small amount of surprise as, up ahead, Lia slowed her horse to a stop and hopped off. He and Echo both watched as she came back toward them, but only when she made a beeline for the horse with the cart did Bellamy move. His thoughts weren’t quick enough to tell him exactly _what_ he was worried she might do, but he just knew he didn’t want her anywhere near his sister’s body. Echo tried to stop him from dismounting by tightening her arms around his stomach, but she only succeeded in being pulled off the horse with him as he jumped down.  
  
Lia was kneeling at the back of the cart, and she had unlaced one of Octavia’s boots and was tugging it off her foot.  
  
“What the hell are you _doing?”_ Bellamy yelled, and he barely recognised his own voice. “Don’t _touch_ her!” Lia ignored him, tossing the boot aside, and Bellamy felt Echo’s hands grabbing his forearms from behind, urgently trying to hold him back.  
  
“Please,” she whispered into his ear. _“Please.”_ He didn’t know if she was so insistent because she cared about him, because she didn’t want to be left alone with Lia, or both, but he didn’t care- he couldn’t care about anything anymore.  
  
In one fluid motion Lia yanked off Octavia’s sock, and Bellamy felt Echo’s hands still suddenly on his arms. He wasn’t immediately sure what he was seeing. His eyes narrowed as he took a slow step forward, and this time Echo didn’t stop him. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the fleck of blue between two of Octavia’s toes. It looked like a feather, but he couldn’t understand how a feather had gotten there when she’d been inside the mountain, or why it seemed to make Echo’s breath catch.  
  
It was only when Lia plucked the tuft of blue out from between Octavia’s toes that he realised it wasn’t a feather at all, but a tiny dart with a feathered tip.  
  
“What the hell is that?” he demanded, jabbing a finger in her direction.  
  
Lia looked at him, and she was no longer angry. “It is a promise,” she said, reaching for his hand and unfolding it, placing the dart in his open palm. He looked down at it, saw that it was coated in Octavia’s blood, still wet. “A promise from you to me,” she continued. “That you will be loyal from now on. That you will _listen,_ when I speak.”  
  
Before he could ask what any of that meant, Octavia’s body jerked bolt upright. She gasped loudly, eyes huge and wide. It gave Echo such a fright that she let out an audible cry, stumbling backward, but Bellamy only sank to his knees. He felt like laughing, like crying, like screaming and vomiting all at once.  
  
Octavia fell forward off the cart and onto all fours, clutching at her throat, her gaze still wide, as though the rope had only just been tight around her neck. She met Bellamy’s eyes and tried to whisper his name, but her voice was cracked and raw. He knew that feeling, knew what it was like to be hanged and strangled until you couldn’t speak, but none of that mattered. She was _alive-_ he didn’t know or care how- she just was.  
  
Bellamy cupped her face in his shaking hands and he just looked at her, blinking back tears so he could really see her face and take in every bit of it- the life in her eyes, her lips slightly parted as she drew in big breaths, the colour flooding back into her cheeks.  
  
“Octavia,” he whispered, just needing to say her name and watch her hear him say it, needing to know that she was really alive, really here with him again.  
  
“Bell?” she managed, her voice strained and sore. He seized her tightly, hardly breathing, hardly believing this was even possible. She leaned forward against his chest, her fingers threading into his hair. He was afraid someone might speak and tell him he was crazy, but he was happy to be crazy if it meant she would live.  
  
“Are you alright?” he asked her. Again, her hand went to her throat, and he nodded his head. “I know,” he assured her. “Believe me, I know. It’ll pass.” He stood up and tugged her to her feet by her hand, pulling her close again for another hug. Echo was still staring at them like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, like this was a miracle- and it was.  
  
“How are we outside?” Octavia asked, as she seemed to belatedly understand their surroundings. Her voice sounded strained and painful.  
  
“We will need more horses,” Lia spoke up before anyone could respond, speaking for the first time since she’d raised Octavia from the dead. “Camp here for the night.”  
  
Bellamy let go of Octavia and he grabbed Lia, pulling her into his chest and holding her tightly. An instant later he felt the coolness of her blade on his neck and he let her go, seeing that the anger had sprung back into her eyes. “Thank you,” he said, hardly caring about the knife, not caring about anything anymore, his happiness that Octavia was alive overwhelming any other feeling he could possibly have.  
  
“I want your _loyalty,”_ Lia said, and it sounded like a warning. “Not your gratitude.”  
  
Bellamy knew she had them both, but he just nodded his agreement. Lia spun on her heel and unlaced the cart from the horse, taking rope to tie the three horses together before she mounted hers and charged them into the forest.  
  
“She will be back,” Echo said. Bellamy was already holding Octavia to his chest again, hugging her tightly. “What happened?” Echo asked her.  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Bellamy said quickly, before Octavia could even attempt to answer. He couldn’t bear to hear the details of how she’d killed herself, how badly he’d failed her, or even how Lia had gotten involved- at least, not now. He tossed Echo a pleading look and said, “Can you just give us a minute? Please?”  
  
To his relief, Echo obeyed him, going to their packs to pull out furs and make camp for the night. He just stayed with Octavia, taking her by the hands and sitting her down with him on a log. “Breathe,” he urged her, hearing the strain in her voice with each inhale. He put a hand on the back of her neck and just rested it there, making sure she knew she wasn’t alone. “Shshsh,” he whispered as he saw tears welling up in her eyes. “You’re okay. It’s okay.” He stared at her, never wanting to let her out of his sight again. “I promise, it’s going to be okay.”  
  
“Lincoln,” she whispered, her voice small, the tears spilling over.  
  
“Lincoln would want you to live,” he said firmly. “You know that.” He knew what a hypocrite he was; as soon as he’d seen her dead, he’d wanted to end himself just so he wouldn’t have to feel that loss. So he couldn’t say he didn’t understand.  
  
It was the look of total confusion in her eyes that caught him off-guard. He watched her carefully, trying to understand how his strong little sister, so resilient and brave, could have given up on life. How could she have done something so terrible to herself?  
  
Suddenly he realised that she hadn’t.  
  
“O,” he said urgently, taking her face in his hands. “What happened? Did you-” he broke off, drew in a huge breath and forced the words from his lips, “Did you hang yourself?”  
  
She pulled back from him, and she looked totally offended by that question. _“What?_ Of _course_ not. What are you talking about?” Her voice was raspy, but indignant.  
  
Bellamy let out a strangled laugh and he closed his eyes, feeling suddenly weak with relief. A wave of guilt washed over him for believing Octavia could be capable of something like that, when he knew her better than anyone. He felt her hand reach out and touch his hair and he looked up at her, saw the concern, the disbelief, on her face. “Bell… you really thought I _killed_ myself?”  
  
“I walked into the room and you were hanging from the ceiling,” he whispered, and as soon as he saw her stricken expression he knew that none of this had been her doing. “Lia,” he said, shaking his head. _“She_ did it.”  
  
Octavia’s fingers curled around the bruises on her neck. “But why?”  
  
“To get you out of the mountain,” Echo spoke up from nearby.  
  
Bellamy glanced at her and nodded, then turned his attention back to his sister, watching her face. He remembered when he’d left her alone to change her clothes; he’d walked with Echo down that corridor and they’d gone around a corner, out of sight of her door. They hadn’t been gone long, but he’d seen how fast Lia could move and he knew she would have had time to slip back into Octavia’s room. She must have used whatever that dart was to put her into a state that looked enough like death to fool everyone, and to get them- _all_ of them- out of the mountain. Maybe Lia realised that he would have just continued to fight, refusing to leave his sister behind, and that killing Lincoln hadn’t made anything better.  
  
“Why the hell would she do that after she _murdered_ Lincoln?” Octavia asked, seeming to read his mind. Her voice was strained, cold and furious.  
  
“I don’t know,” he answered, but he did- Lia had already told him. She’d done it to gain his trust, to put him in her debt, and it had worked. Even knowing all that she’d done, he still felt gratitude. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Tomorrow we’re going after Clarke. We’re going to go get her and then we’re going to go home.”  
  
Suddenly anything seemed possible- if Octavia could die and come back to life, then recovering Clarke should be easy.  
  
Octavia seemed much less enthusiastic about it, but she was still enough in shock that she allowed him to lead her over to the bed Echo had made for her. He intended to tuck her in as though she was still a child, but she derailed that plan when she stopped short and said, “What about Lincoln?”  
  
His eyes flickered to the cart, to the body wrapped and tied in white linens. “We’ll bury him,” he promised her. “Tomorrow before we leave. Okay?”  
  
“But he won’t be with his people,” she protested. “He’ll be far away… he’ll be alone.” Her voice broke and the tears started again.  
  
Bellamy grabbed her shoulder and squeezed. “I know,” he said softly. “But Lincoln was an explorer, right? He was never tied to one place. This is a good spot and he’ll be safe here. He won’t be alone because we’ll come back and visit him.”  
  
She shook her head. _“Trikru_ don’t bury their dead. They burn them. His _keryon_ has to be released into the wind.”  
  
Bellamy thought about that for a moment and then nodded. “Then we’ll burn him,” he said. She could have asked him for anything in that moment and he would have bent over backwards to give it to her. “And we can carry his ashes with us as long as you want.”  
  
“Come with me, Octavia,” Echo said gently. “We’ll gather wood to build a pyre.”  
  
She seemed satisfied with that, and Bellamy watched as she went to Echo and then followed her into the trees. He didn’t want to let Octavia out of his sight, but he trusted Echo and knew they wouldn’t go far.  
  
Bellamy pulled together some rocks and woods and built a campfire, partly to keep them warm and partly to provide an easy source of ignition once the pyre was ready. He knew Lincoln would have to burn until morning. He wondered if Octavia would sleep, whether she would spend the night watching Lincoln being consumed by the flames. But he could deal with her grief, with her tears. All those weeks ago, when he’d let her go with Lincoln into the night, with an arrow buried in her hip and war waging all around them, he had told the truth when he’d said, _I need you to live._ He couldn’t exist in the world without her, couldn’t shoulder the burden of guilt that came hand in hand with her death. But as long as she stayed alive, he knew he could deal with anything.  
  
It took a couple of hours for the pyre to be built, and it was hard work putting it all together and hoisting Lincoln to the top of it, but the busy work was clearly helpful for Octavia. She worked hard, and she was the one to make a torch, hold it to the campfire he’d built, and then light the wood under Lincoln’s body.  
  
Despite the strain that was still there from being hanged, her voice was strong as she declared, _“Yu gonplei ste odon.”  
  
_ Bellamy swallowed and added softly, “May we meet again.” He watched Octavia's face as the pyre erupted into flames, and saw the determined glint in her eyes, the firm way she held her chin up. He felt comforted, confident now that his sister was not a person who would take her own life. She would get through this.  
  
  
  
Later, when Octavia was asleep, curled into Bellamy with her head on his chest, and Echo was lying nearby, Bellamy felt the older woman’s brown eyes watching him. Lincoln’s body still smoldered in the background, but Bellamy wasn’t worried about the smoke or even their proximity to Raven Rock. He knew no one would be coming after them. He turned his head to meet Echo’s gaze, giving her a smile, but she didn’t return it.  
  
“Your gratitude is misplaced,” she warned him. “Lia did not save your sister out of compassion or humanity. There are strings attached to all that she does.”  
  
“But she _did_ save her,” he said, keeping his voice quiet so as not to wake Octavia. Yes, Lia had arranged for him to walk into the most horrible sight of his entire life, but it had gotten Octavia out of that mountain, away from those people who wanted to turn her into a science experiment. He knew it was complicated, that Lia had done it to gain power over him, but he couldn’t shake that gratitude. Less than two hours ago he’d been thinking that he’d have to leave his sister behind in a place where they wanted to hurt her, and now she was outside and safe under a star-filled sky.  
  
It was hard to erase the horrific memory of her hanging lifeless from the ceiling, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that she hadn’t done it to herself. He watched the rise and fall of Octavia’s chest as she slept, hoping that she wasn’t being plagued by nightmares, knowing that he would definitely be facing bad dreams of his own just as soon as he closed his eyes. What he wouldn’t give for some of Monty’s sleeping tonic right now.  
  
“I’m not an idiot,” he assured Echo, feeling her eyes still on him. “I know Lia did it just so I would have to fall in, but I’m still thankful.”  
  
A long silence passed between them, and in it he could hear her disapproval as clear as if she was voicing it aloud. “Octavia should go back to _Trikru_ lands,”she said finally. “She should take Lincoln’s ashes home.”  
  
“No, I’m not letting her out of my sight,” Bellamy answered, shaking his head. “Especially not after what just happened.”  
  
_“Especially_ after what just happened,” Echo said firmly. “She is ammunition against you. She is an easy method of controlling your heart.”  
  
He knew she was right, that everything she was saying was true, but he just didn’t care. “I’m not leaving her,” he insisted.  
  
Echo was clearly dissatisfied with that, but she only gritted her teeth. Pulling the furs up to her chin, she let out a long breath and rolled over so her back was to him. He considered the conversation over, and for a long time it seemed like she agreed, but then he heard her voice cut through the darkness. She sounded exasperated, even worried, as she said, “I believe she will be the death of you.”


	37. 37- Octavia

Her eyes opened against a clear blue sky and she could hear birdsong coming softly from the treetops, which were swaying in a gentle breeze. She pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly, not moving yet, just mentally preparing for her first day without Lincoln. She had fallen asleep on Bellamy’s chest, but in her sleep she had rolled away from him. She turned her head to look back at him and saw his face, relaxed in sleep. Echo looked similarly peaceful nearby, quite a contrast to the usual formidable expressions she wore.  
  
Octavia sat up, pushing the furs off and delicately getting out of bed so as not to wake the other two. She walked to what was left of the pyre, just a heap of sticks and ashes. Echo had placed a small clay pot nearby, and Octavia took it in her hands, carefully and meticulously scooping the ashes into her hands and pouring them into the pot. Eventually, there was almost nothing left in the dirt, and she covered over what remained, wiping the Earth clean. She knew that a small bit of Lincoln would remain here, but she didn’t mind- Bellamy had been right. This was a good spot.  
  
Fitting the cover tightly onto the top of the pot, she washed her hands with the dew still trapped on the shadiest bushes and just sat quietly for a while.  
  
Softly, under her breath, she made up a mantra on the spot that she hoped would carry her through this storm that had become her life: “Lincoln is gone, but I’m not afraid. Bellamy is still here, I’m still here, we’re safe, and we can get through this together. The demons can’t get us… I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid… I’m not afraid.” She repeated this several times, and when she could get through the whole thing without crying, she felt that she was calm enough to face the day.  
  
It was only when she managed to put a lid on her grief that the anger boiled up from her stomach, thick and hot. She wanted to _kill_ that shadow child. She didn’t care what she’d done to get her out of Raven Rock, that kid had hurt Lincoln and taken him away from her, and she deserved to _die_ for it.  
  
Her anger at Clarke also returned with a vengeance. If only she hadn’t left Camp Jaha, _none_ of this would have happened. They would all still be safe, Lincoln would be alive, and her biggest problem would be the boredom and annoyance of living with Sky People when she’d rather be with Tree People.  
  
If Clarke hadn’t been so _selfish,_ they would all be at home. Bellamy wouldn’t have had to suffer for all those months, pretending like he was okay but clearly needing Clarke by his side.  
  
If Clarke hadn’t been so _stupid,_ trusting Lexa to keep up her end of the bargain they’d struck, Indra wouldn’t have rejected Octavia, and she and Lincoln wouldn’t have had to make the best of things, trying to make a life in Camp Jaha.  
  
“Octavia?” Echo’s voice broke though her thoughts. She was crouched next to her, frowning at her in concern- probably because Octavia was just sitting there, scowling into the dirt.  
  
“I’m fine,” she told the older woman, but her voice had an edge to it that Echo didn’t miss.  
  
“You wish to have revenge for Lincoln’s death, but you must not attack Lia,” she told her sternly. “She will see it coming, and she will kill you before you have a chance to make a single move against her. You saw how fast she can be, how cunning she is- believe me when I tell you: that is only the half of it.”  
  
“She _murdered_ Lincoln,” Octavia bit out. “She has to _pay_ for that.”  
  
“You told Bellamy that you had no desire to die,” Echo answered. “If that is the truth, you will not move against this child.”  
  
“But she _murdered_ him.”  
  
“Octavia,” Echo said, and something about her voice drew Octavia’s eyes to meet hers. “People are murdered every day.”  
  
Octavia knew it was true, but her anger was stronger than her ability to concede. Savagely she replied, _“Jus drein jus daun.”_  
  
Echo sighed softly. “The clans have another saying, which you may not know,” she told her. _“‘De trimani kom tripwamplei ron op pleni tri gon tu trifayabag… won gon yu veida en won gon ai.’_ It means, ‘The forest of revenge gives enough wood for two pyres- one for your enemy, and one for yourself.’ Do you understand what I am telling you? In a battle between anger and life, choose life.”  
  
“So you just want me to let it go?” Octavia asked bitterly. “Just pretend it never happened?”  
  
“Of _course_ not,” Echo said. She placed her hand on Octavia’s chest, surprising her with the gesture. Octavia met the woman’s brown eyes, which looked severe. “I want you to carry that pain right here, in your heart, honour it every day, and nurture it as if it were a child. But, like a child, it must have boundaries. You must keep it safe. Attacking someone who has been trained in death since before she could walk will do nothing but get you killed.”  
  
Echo withdrew her hand, but it had already left a spot of warmth on Octavia’s chest. She imagined it as a white-hot heat of rage, and she closed her eyes, just feeling that anger for a moment, the wrath she felt, and the desire to cause pain to a person who had caused her the agony she was feeling now.  
  
Next she tried to imagine a little baby, like the one she’d seen inside the incubator, but perfect and whole- no bandages, chubby and warm, wrapped in a blanket, its little red face scrunched up in absolute fury. She imagined taking that baby in her arms and rocking it, soothing it, cuddling it in her arms until it relaxed, its tight little fists loosening, its expression softening into sleep. It felt good to soothe that baby, but still she kept it close, so it knew it was important to her. The last thing she did, which she was sure Echo wouldn’t approve of, was promise the baby that she would get her chance at revenge- one day, when she was bigger, stronger, together they would strike. The baby’s little eyelashes fluttered, and then she was asleep.  
  
When Octavia opened her eyes she was calmer- still sad, still angry, but calmer.  
  
Echo gave her a nod; she looked impressed. “You are wiser than your brother,” she declared. “But you do have a similar temper.”  
  
Octavia took each one of those remarks as a compliment.


	38. 38- Bellamy

He hadn’t been awake for twenty minutes when Lia returned to the camp, with horses in tow. She had taken theirs the night before- probably so they couldn’t get very far if they decided to run- but now she had an extra one. So Bellamy and Echo would no longer have to share.  
  
If Lia wondered where Lincoln’s body had gone, she didn’t ask, and Bellamy didn’t care- he was concerned with Octavia. As soon as Lia had returned to camp he’d stayed by his sister’s side to make sure she wouldn’t do anything to get herself killed. To Octavia’s credit, she behaved remarkably well.  
  
Lia fixed all three of them with a look to ensure they were listening, and then she said, “I have been thinking about communication. I believe that we have had trouble with understanding each other up until now. I hope that some things have become clearer, but I think it would be best if I was more direct.”  
  
“More direct than slashing someone’s _throat_ open?” Octavia growled. Bellamy reached for her hand and covered it with his and squeezed, catching Echo’s alarmed glance in their direction.  
  
“Now I am going to tell you what you need to know for our time together to go smoothly,” Lia said, acting as though Octavia hadn’t spoken. “When I have finished speaking, I expect that none of you will make any more mistakes in dealing with me. If you do, I am sure you are all very aware of the consequences. Please do not speak until I have finished. Do all of you understand?”  
  
“Yes, shadow child,” Echo murmured, and Bellamy nodded his head. Octavia just stared at the girl, her eyes icy, her jaw locked, but Lia seemed not to notice.  
  
“This is what is going to happen,” she said clearly. “Together we are going to fulfill the queen’s bounty and capture the prisoner to bring back to the Ice Nation. From there, we will all travel to Polis, where we will board a train to Tawa, the capital of the Ice Nation. Then-”  
  
“A _train?”_ Octavia interrupted.  
  
Lia’s eyes lighted on her with absolute distaste. “I _said,_ do not speak until I have finished. Is that _understood,_ Octavia?”  
  
“Perfectly,” she snapped.  
  
Bellamy squeezed her hand harder. “O,” he whispered. She didn’t respond to him or even acknowledge he’d said her name, but he saw her relax just a little.  
  
“Now,” Lia continued. “After we have taken the _train_ to Tawa, we will bring the prisoner to Queen Elody. You will be reunited with Clarke, and you will be given an audience with the queen in order to discuss the terms of your leader’s release. If you do all the things I have said, no one else will be hurt or killed. Pack your things- we will leave momentarily.”  
  
Without leaving a single chance for any replies or further questions, Lia turned on her heel and went to her own horse to wait for them.  
  
Bellamy let go of Octavia’s hand and released a long breath. “You did good, O,” he assured her.  
  
“I hate this,” she answered, her words clipped. “Let’s just get it done.”  
  
He couldn’t argue with that, and either could Echo, so the three of them gathered their things and mounted their horses. Octavia had tucked Lincoln’s ashes safely into her saddlebags, but Bellamy had also noticed that she was wearing a long cord around her neck, with a small pouch at the bottom, and he knew that must be part of him too.  
  
The way Lia had laid out the plan, it seemed reasonable to think that they would soon be rid of the shadow child. And until then, he just had to keep Octavia from doing anything that could get her killed. He couldn’t wait to see Clarke. He wished they hadn’t agreed to this annoying bounty detour, but there was no avoiding it now. They’d just have to get it done as quickly as possible.  
  
  
  
The target of their bounty was due east of their current location, luckily on the way to Polis. Lia promised that it would not be too much of a detour, and Bellamy was glad of that. The landscape they were travelling through now was so different than what had surrounded the dropship. What trees there were came in patches here and there, but otherwise all that surrounded them were rugged mountains and rolling meadows. Occasionally there were villages in the distance, identifiable only by the flickering firelight on the horizon, but Lia never steered them close to any of the settlements.  
  
“Moira said the Plains have to live with worse radiation than most of the other clans,” Octavia said to Bellamy, glancing over from her horse. “The people here fear outsiders.”  
  
“So they give their imperfect babies to Raven Rock,” he said, gritting his teeth, remembering what Octavia had told him about the nursery she’d found. “And those kids get to grow up to be prisoners.”  
  
“We should have killed them, Bell,” she said, her voice soft.  
  
He looked over at her, saw the broken expression on her face. His eyes flickered to Echo for a moment, who was also watching Octavia with concern, but she didn’t say anything. Bellamy said gently, “Come on, O... you don’t mean that.”  
  
His sister met his eyes and said, “Oh yes I do.” He could see in her expression that she was dead serious.  
  
“Those babies would have died too,” he pointed out.  
  
That comment seemed to give her pause and she shifted uncomfortably for a moment, then shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”  
  
He took that as a signal to drop the conversation, and they fell into silence as they continued their journey. The horses seemed happy to be moving now with relative ease through the soft grasslands, and they travelled a lot quicker than they had previously, when most of the terrain had been forests and mountains.  
  
Finally, late into the second day, Lia did become interested in a village off in the distance. Bellamy couldn’t see anything different about this one as opposed to all the others they had passed, but Lia turned her horse in that direction, leading the others along behind her.  
  
She spoke up for the first time in many hours, “The target of our bounty is there. We will wait until nightfall to make our move.”  
  
They made camp, but Lia didn’t allow them to build a fire. It was freezing, but no one complained. They were all silent, lost in their own thoughts, and a black mood soon settled over the camp. Bellamy felt nervous, wondering how exactly this was going to play out.  
  
He sat down with his back against a log and pulled Octavia down beside him, laying a fur over both of them so she would stay warm from his body heat. Echo dozed nearby, and he envied her ability to sleep anywhere, at a moment’s notice.  
  
“Clarke has been gone so long,” Octavia said quietly, after a long silence. “What if she’s dead, Bell? What if all this is for nothing?”  
  
His jaw clenched and he shook his head. “She isn’t,” he assured her, hating that thought so much. “Lia’s here to bring us to her.”  
  
_“Lia_ killed _Lincoln_ just because we weren’t listening to her,” Octavia pointed out. “Who knows if anything she says is true.”  
  
“I can hear you,” Lia spoke up, but surprisingly she didn’t sound angry.  
  
“Like I care,” his sister muttered.  
  
“Octavia,” Bellamy warned softly. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close to him, tucking her head under his chin. She didn’t protest, and seemed to take comfort in his warmth and the beat of his heart. Softly he said, “She’s alive, she has to be.”  
  
“Aren’t you _mad_ at her?” she asked. “After everything she did, you’re just going to forgive and forget?”  
  
Bellamy let out a long sigh. “I’m scared for her, O,” he said softly. “I want her to be safe. Beyond that… I don’t know.”  
  
“I don’t want her to hurt you,” Octavia said stubbornly. “I saw how bad it got when she walked away.”  
  
He sighed again, curled his fingers under her chin and tipped her face up. “It’s not simple,” he told her. “You know that, right?”  
  
Grudgingly, she nodded, but he watched her brow knit together and he couldn’t help but smile fondly at her; she was good at holding grudges. Suddenly he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and he knew Lia’s eyes were fixed on them. Sure enough, when he looked over apprehensively, she was staring right at them with what appeared to be great interest. When she saw him looking at her she asked, “Where you come from, is it customary for siblings to be so close?”  
  
“Where we come from, there _are_ no siblings,” Octavia snapped.  
  
Bellamy squeezed her shoulders and said to Lia, trying to remain neutral, “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”  
  
She seemed to hesitate, just for a moment. Then, softly, she said, “I don’t know.”  
  
“You were young when you were taken from your mother, right? Echo said you would have been just a baby.”  
  
Octavia was holding her breath against his chest; he wondered if she understood what he was trying to do.  
  
Lia shrugged. She seemed uncomfortable. “I have no memory of any family. Only our trainers… we lived communally.”  
  
“So then you sort of did have siblings,” Bellamy tried. “Right? Were you close with any of them?”  
  
Lia’s eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “That is no concern of _yours,”_ she said sharply. “Why are you asking me these pointless questions?”  
  
“Because I’m interested,” he answered, carefully. “I’m interested in who you are.”  
  
“You _know_ who I am,” she said. “You saw it in the mountain.”  
  
He shook his head. “No, that’s what you can _do._ Who you are is something different.”  
  
Lia looked away, out into the darkness. “That is no concern of yours,” she said again, but her voice was quiet this time.  
  
“It should be,” he answered. When Lia snapped her eyes back to him in obvious surprise he clarified hastily, “It should be _someone’s_ concern. Children should be taken care of, not used.”  
  
“I am not being _used,”_ she protested. “I have been trained for a purpose, and I do it willingly- happily.”  
  
Bellamy shrugged a little. “You don’t seem very happy to me.”  
  
Lia’s words were like venom as she spat, “Be careful.”  
  
He took the hint and backed off, but he couldn’t shake the hope that maybe- just a tiny bit- he’d gotten through to her. Even if it only made her think for one second, it was something. He felt Octavia take his hand and squeeze, and he held onto her, glad for the reassurance, knowing how dangerous it could be if he went too far in irritating the shadow child.  
  
Eventually he couldn’t stand the silence so he asked her, “What’s the plan?”  
  
Lia seemed glad for the change in subject. She met his eyes and said, “I will go ahead to neutralise any threats. You three will follow after me, secure our prisoner, and then we will leave immediately for Polis.”  
  
“Echo and I will do it,” Bellamy said. “Octavia can stay here and make sure the horses don’t run off.” It was a lame excuse, even for him, as the horses were perfectly capable of being left alone, but he didn’t want her anywhere near any kind of danger. He felt so unstable, even a cut on her hand would panic him.  
  
“Bell, I’m _fine,”_ Octavia said, clearly annoyed. “I can handle myself- I don’t _need_ protecting.”  
  
“I know,” he said to her, looking into her eyes and hoping she saw the desperation there. “I really do. But I just need you to stay here and stay safe, okay?”  
  
She looked like she wanted to argue further, but she just let out a frustrated breath, glared at the ground, and said, “Fine.”  
  
Lia was watching them with that same strange look of fascination he’d seen before, when she'd asked about siblings. He wondered if she would ask him something again now, but maybe her interest in it passed, because she went back to the subject at hand and said, “I do not care who secures the target, so long as it is done. I want no arguments, no hesitations, no protests. Am I understood?”  
  
“Perfectly,” Bellamy said. The truth was, he could care less about this whole thing- it seemed like a chore to get through, something that would bring him closer to Clarke, closer to finally having both Octavia and Clarke safe.  
  
When it was dark, Lia rose and went to her back, where she drew out a long rolled up bit of leather. When she unfolded it he saw more darts like the one she’d put between Octavia’s toes, and not just blue- there were yellow, red, green, purple, and black darts, as well as quite a few vials of different liquids. Bellamy decided he’d rather not know what all of that was for, but Lia seemed satisfied with her supplies.  
  
“I will go now,” she said. “Wait five minutes and then follow me.”  
  
Once she moved away Octavia said flatly, “Maybe she’ll get herself killed before you guys even get there.”  
  
“Doubtful,” Echo answered, her tone gentle. “But we can hope.”  
  
After five minutes had passed, Bellamy and Echo left Octavia- irritated but alive- with the horses and set off across the meadow toward the fires flickering in the distance. Bellamy pulled his gun out as they reached the outskirts, crouching in the tall grass, but Echo shook her head at him. “Too loud,” she whispered.  
  
“I know,” he replied with a nod, his voice low. “I’ll only use it if I have to.”  
  
It wasn’t a village at all, but a small encampment of about a half dozen tents. Even in the firelight Bellamy could see that it looked temporary. The camp was eerily quiet.  
  
“She has done her work,” Echo said, slowly standing up. “We must do ours.”  
  
Slowly they crept closer, passing through the outer ring of tents that was set up around a central one. Lia was standing just inside, and she was surrounded by dead men and women, all of them dressed in armour and holding weapons. It looked like not a one had seen her coming. A couple of them were dead from wounds, while others looked to be asleep. Bellamy knew from the black darts sticking out of their necks that they must have been poisoned.  
  
Lia put a finger to her lips so they would not speak, handing Bellamy a coil of rope. The only sound was the rustling of grass in a gentle breeze. Bellamy nodded to Echo and together they walked slowly to the central tent. Bellamy went in first, holding his gun out, even though he knew Lia wanted them to take this prisoner alive, and he did not want to cross her.  
  
The walls and ceiling seemed to be made of a material like burlap, so that it provided shelter from rain while allowing in some light. There were massive wooden poles that held up the roof, and the inside was cluttered with various pieces of furniture, including a bed. It was dark enough that Bellamy could mostly only make out shapes, but he could see that the bed was occupied, and he could hear the soft, even breathing of someone asleep.  
  
Nodding to Echo, together they moved toward the bed, and Bellamy was glad that the floor was dirt so their footsteps were muffled. He motioned for Echo to grab their target, slinging the rope over his shoulder and pointing his gun at the figure in case Echo ran into trouble.  
  
With a nod, Echo crossed the final few feet to the bed and lunged at the bed, wrapping her arm around the person’s in a chokehold and wrenching them from the bed. Bellamy kept his gun trained on the struggling figures, only just able to identify which one was Echo.  
  
Just before their target passed out, Echo let out a grunt of pain and staggered, releasing her grip.  
  
Silence no longer mattered, so Bellamy said, “Don’t move!” He chambered a bullet, hoping that this Grounder knew what a gun was well enough to recognise a click. From the stillness that settled over the tent, it seemed like that was the case. Echo grabbed the figure in her arms again, the two struggled, and then Bellamy saw a glint of something silver and knew that their would-be prisoner had a knife.  
  
“Look out!” he yelled to Echo, realising it just wasn’t safe to shoot, and so he ran forward instead and grabbed the hand that held the knife, halting the blade in the middle of its plunge towards Echo’s chest. He felt teeth sink into his bicep and he grunted, but he squeezed the arm, using his nails, until the knife fell to the floor. After that, he used his strength to overpower the surprisingly small person he held in his arms, and Echo used the rope to create shackles for the hands and feet. Once Bellamy was holding the body still for Echo to do her work, he could feel that it was a woman, and that she was absolutely furious. He could hear the seething anger in her breath, but at least she was subdued. They had done what they were supposed to do, and now they could get Clarke back.  
  
Hauling the woman outside, Lia seemed satisfied with what they had accomplished. “Good,” she said. “We are now free to travel to Polis.”  
  
“You will be killed the second you arrive, shadow child,” the woman in Bellamy’s arms growled. He froze- her voice was familiar.  
  
“Lexa?” He whirled the woman around to face him and looked into a pair of the most furious eyes he’d ever seen. He was right- it was the Commander- and her whole body seemed to be sparking with rage as she glared at him.  
  
“Bellamy of the Sky People,” she bit out, saying his name like a curse. “What _is_ this?”  
  
He just stared into her face. The truth was, he didn’t know.


	39. 39- Octavia

When she started hearing the soft swishing of grass, Octavia knew they were on their way back to the camp. Lia appeared first, materialising out of the meadow as though she was an apparition, followed closely by Echo. It was Bellamy who was making noise, and he was also the one hauling the prisoner behind them.  
  
Octavia jumped to her feet as she saw who was struggling in Bellamy’s grip. She could hardly believe it as she looked at Lexa, hands and ankles bound, gagged, eyes livid. Octavia clapped a hand over her mouth and laughed. Her brother shot her a look, but she couldn’t stop herself. The sound bordered on maniacal, but she wasn’t sure if that was because her voice was still strange from being hanged, or if it was because she had indeed gone a little insane.  
  
Bellamy sat Lexa down on the ground and said, “Don’t try anything.”  
  
Echo looked worried. “This means war,” she said, watching Lexa seethe.  
  
“War has already begun,” Lia declared. “She just hasn’t known it until now.”  
  
To her credit, Lexa didn’t degrade herself by attempting to speak through the gag. Her eyes said a lot though, the way she murdered each of them with her gaze. Octavia couldn’t help but find it amusing. She _hated_ Lexa, hated everything she’d done- betraying Clarke, calling the retreat that led to Indra abandoning her in the tunnels, forcing her brother to murder everyone in Mount Weather and then live with that burden day in and day out, setting up the circumstances that made Clarke leave. It soothed her to see Lexa knocked off her high horse.  
  
“What are you doing?” Bellamy asked, watching suspiciously as Lia unfolded her leather roll and picked up one of the vials of liquid.  
  
“She will be easier to manage if she sleeps until we reach Polis,” Lia explained. Plucking one of the blue darts out of its loop on the roll and dipping it carefully into the liquid, she stood and approached Lexa.  
  
Octavia saw Bellamy’s conscience hit him and he said, “Is that going to hurt her?”  
  
Gritting her teeth, Octavia shook her head at her brother. “Don’t, Bell, you know what she can do.” Her eyes slid to Lexa and she added angrily, “And you know what _she_ deserves.”  
  
She felt Bellamy’s eyes on her for a moment, felt him continue to hesitate, but he didn’t protest further. Lia seized Lexa’s wrist, but Lexa fought her, jerking her hand away. Lia’s eyes blazed and she pulled out her knife, pressing it to Lexa’s throat. A thin line of blood appeared beneath the blade.  
  
“I’d prefer to take you alive,” she warned. Lexa bared her teeth, angry, enraged, her eyes darting around, but then she seemed to realise she had no choice but to submit, and so she looked away, gritting her teeth.  
  
Lia slid the dart into the soft flesh between Lexa’s second and third finger, and almost immediately Lexa’s body went limp and she slumped down onto the ground.  
  
“She can stay that way for a few hours at a time,” Lia explained. “We will have to revive her occasionally to keep her alive. She may have some memory loss from the times immediately preceding the placement of the darts.”  
  
“Memory loss?” Octavia asked sharply. “Is that why I can’t remember what you did to me?”  
  
Lia shrugged. “Evidently.” She motioned to Bellamy and told him to put Lexa in the cart, and Octavia watched as he complied. She hated the power Lia seemed to have over him, hated knowing that it was from a misplaced sense of gratitude- that it was because of her.  
  
From beside Octavia, Echo said, “I believe your brother may be going down a path that can only lead to trouble.”  
  
Octavia glanced at her, nodding grimly. “Yeah,” she said. “But don’t worry- I won’t let anything happen to him.”  
  
After a moment Echo said, “Bellamy cares for you very deeply. I suspect he will continue to act recklessly if he believes you are in danger. You may not have much power over his actions.”  
  
Hesitating, Octavia nodded again. “Maybe not,” she said. “But Clarke will.”  
  
Echo seemed surprised by that statement. “He will listen to her?”  
  
Octavia nodded. “Yeah… I haven’t seen him listen to anyone like he listens to her. Not since our mother was alive.”  
  
“Then I hope, for his sake, that we find her soon,” Echo said. “It’s incredible that his pigheadedness has not gotten him killed already.”  
  
Octavia didn’t know how to respond to that- she had mixed feelings about finding Clarke, and she still hadn’t made up her mind whether it would be good or bad for Bellamy to see her again. Still, whether their reunion ended explosively or warmly, she was hopeful that her brother would at least be able to put some of his demons to rest once Clarke was back in their lives.  
  
“We are leaving now,” Lia’s voice cut through her thoughts. Octavia exchanged a glance with Echo and both women stood up. Lia and Bellamy climbed onto two of the horses.  
  
Octavia went to Bellamy and said, “Here, I’ll ride with you,” giving him a gentle smile. He nodded his head, reaching down to give her a hand up. Echo mounted the final horse, and Lia started leading them all west.  
  
“Are you okay?” Bellamy asked softly after a few minutes.  
  
Laying her cheek between his shoulder blades, she nodded her head. “Yeah,” she said. “My neck hurts though.”  
  
She felt his hand slide over hers where it was resting on his stomach, and he squeezed her fingers. “It’ll pass.”  
  
“I remember how horrible it felt when I walked into the dropship and saw you hanging there,” Octavia said softly. “And that was when I _knew_ that Murphy had done that to you. It must have been awful to see me like that… to think I did it.”  
  
Again, she felt his hand squeeze hers. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “It was.” He let out a long breath that shook at the end. “That can’t ever happen again.”  
  
“I know,” she answered, keeping her voice gentle, pulling her face back from him and looking at the tightness of his jaw, visible even from the back. “It won’t, Bell. I promise.”  
  
He kept his voice low and said, “We just have to get through this last little bit. We have to find Clarke, get away from Lia, and then get home again. If we can stay alive until then, we’ll all be okay.”  
  
Octavia frowned. She wanted to believe her brother’s words, but she couldn’t help but feel uncertain. After a moment she asked, “But what about Lexa? Echo’s right, this is going to cause a war between the Ice Nation and the coalition.”  
  
“Probably,” he allowed. “But we don’t have to be part of that. Lexa killed our alliance when she backed out of our deal. We don’t owe them anything.”  
  
“But we live on their land, Bell,” she protested. “We might not be _able_ to stay out of it.”  
  
“Then maybe we’ll have to leave,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t know… we’ll figure it out once we have Clarke.”  
  
She knew that with Clarke, Bellamy found it easier to lead. He heeded her judgment, trusted his own decisions more when she was beside him, and Octavia had watched how hard he’d struggled since Clarke had left Camp Jaha.  
  
“It is two days journey to Polis,” Lia called over her shoulder. “Keep up. I’m sure we are all eager to be rid of one another.”  
  
“Well that’s the understatement of the century,” Octavia said dryly. She felt a rumble of laughter travel from Bellamy’s chest through to his back and she couldn’t help but giggle softly. Then she felt a sudden pang of guilt, for laughing when Lincoln was dead. She felt the pain glow brightly in her chest again, that keening grief feeling, and it almost knocked the wind out of her. She knew that the dead were gone, but Lincoln had been _hers,_ and she didn’t know how she would ever get over that pain.  
  
  
  
The journey passed smoothly, with Lia taking them on a route that avoided all the villages that lay between them and Polis. That seemed even more important now that Lexa was with them, and Octavia knew how dangerous it could be if the wrong person caught them in possession of the commander of the coalition.  
  
Lexa was revived several times throughout the journey as Lia had promised, but only long enough for her to re-establish her breathing, and then she was sedated again. When they camped for the night, Lexa was woken once more, and for the first time, the gag was removed from her mouth.  
  
Octavia filled a cup with water and went to Lexa, holding it to her lips. “Drink,” she urged her, not sure if she would or not. But she did, gulping down the entire contents of the cup.  
  
“Let me go, Octavia,” Lexa said, keeping her voice low but icy. “This is _treason.”  
  
_ “You’re not my commander,” Octavia snapped. “Indra banished me from _Trikru_ when _you_ took Mount Weather’s side.”  
  
Lexa bristled at Octavia’s choice of words. “I did not take the _side_ of that place,” she bit out. “I did what was best for my people- I avoided war and ensured that the prisoners would be released.”  
  
“Not all the prisoners though, right?” Octavia snapped. “Not _our_ people.”  
  
“No,” Lexa answered, clipping her words. Her eyes were dark with anger. “I sacrificed forty-four of your people to save generations of my own. If the Mountain Men had used your bone marrow to cure themselves, they would have had no more reason to capture, torture, and _murder_ my people. It would have ended all of it, Octavia- the abductions, the cages, the harvest… and the Reaper program, whose pain you know firsthand.”  
  
Octavia swallowed, cringing as she thought about Lincoln and all the suffering his addiction had caused.  
  
“It was a small price to pay,” Lexa added firmly. “And I would do it again.”  
  
“No,” Octavia said, shaking her head, gritting her teeth. “No, you didn’t have to do that. Things were on track- the plan you made with Clarke was _working._ That door was open- you didn’t have to _betray_ us.”  
  
“That _door_ wasn’t the problem,” Lexa growled. “It was what was _behind_ it that forced my hand.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Bellamy asked, drawn by their angry voices.  
  
Lexa glared at him. “The plan was that once we got that door open, my army would pour into Mount Weather from above, to distract the Mountain Men from the prisoners in the cages and the forty-four Sky People. You were meant to free them all, so they could escape the mountain while our army provided that distraction. But when the door opened, _my_ people had already been taken from the harvest chamber. They were standing behind it, with guns pointed at their heads. If I didn’t agree to Mount Weather’s terms, they would have been slaughtered before anyone had the chance to fight. I did what I did because it was the only choice. I didn’t _enjoy_ changing the plan… betraying Clarke… but if I hadn’t then all my people inside the mountain, and many in my army, would have died that night.”  
  
“And if Clarke and Bellamy hadn’t killed the Mountain Men after you _left_ us, then all of _our_ people would have died,” Octavia said bitterly.  
  
“You may not believe this, but I’m pleased that they did not,” Lexa told her. “The chances of that happening were very low.”  
  
“Yeah, you made sure of that,” Octavia said, narrowing her eyes.  
  
“O…” Bellamy touched her arm gently. “Stop. What’s done is done.”  
  
She stared at him, appalled at what she read in his eyes. “You _agree_ with her?” He shook his head, but she could see the hesitation written all over his face. He had told her, weeks ago, about how it had felt to arrive in the harvest chamber and find everyone gone- their sleeping army, disappeared. She knew he was thinking about that now.  
  
Octavia shook her head and glared back at Lexa. She bit out, “You stood by while a bomb dropped on tonDC… you _murdered_ two hundred and fifty innocent people. Another forty-four- especially when they weren’t even your people- probably didn’t mean much to you after _that.”  
  
_ Standing up, Octavia started to turn away, but then she thought about everything- the dead in tonDC, her friends who were drilled inside the mountain, Fox’s body tumbling down through the chute while she stood by powerless to help, and the moment Indra walked away from her- on impulse, Octavia whirled back around and spat in Lexa’s face. She watched her saliva slip down Lexa’s cheek, watched the commander’s lip curl in absolute fury, but she couldn’t help but smile smugly as Lexa pulled against the restraints around her hands.  
  
Bellamy closed his hand around Octavia’s forearm and pulled her away. “Okay,” he said gently. When she looked at him she saw the deep concern etched into his face, but he needn’t have worried- she felt much better now.  
  
_“Enough,”_ Lia snapped before anyone could say anything else. “Sleep now- we continue our journey at first light.” She walked over and replaced the gag over Lexa’s mouth.  
  
Octavia watched as Bellamy reached out with his sleeve and wiped her saliva from Lexa’s cheek, but she wasn’t angry at her brother- she knew more than anyone what soft heart he had, and because it was one of the things she loved about him, she couldn’t resent it now.  
  
Lia stayed up, obviously wanting to watch the prisoner while everyone else slept. Echo lay down on one side of Bellamy, Octavia on the other, but sleep didn’t come easily to her. Even after she heard the other two start to breathe deeply, even after Lexa herself fell asleep, Octavia was still wide awake. She couldn’t help but be bothered by Lexa’s explanation, which included more detail than Bellamy had ever known to tell her. What had once seemed so neat and tidy, so black and white- a picture of absolute cold-hearted betrayal- was now shot through with smears of gray. This new picture it created was not one that Octavia cared to look at.


	40. 40- Bellamy

Stopping his horse at the top of a ridge, Bellamy stared out across the darkened valley. He heard Octavia’s sharp intake of breath behind to him.  
  
“Is that-”  
  
“-electricity,” he finished for her, hardly believing it himself.  
  
Below them, following the channel of a river that looked manmade, it was so straight, were the glittering lights of a small city or large town. It was obvious that it wasn’t the light of a hundred fires they were seeing, but actual electric lights, a hazy glow across the whole expanse of buildings.  
  
“Come,” Lia said, starting her horse on the descent down toward the valley. “We will reach it by sunrise.”  
  
“It looks no different now than it did when I was a girl,” Echo said softly as she edged her horse up beside the Blakes. He looked over at her, and she smiled a little. “We are nearly done- finally. We will be to Tawa by tomorrow. I will be home, and Clarke will be with you again. ”  
  
Her words gave him such a swell of hope that a grin spread over his face. “Then what are we waiting for?”  
  
“Hey, O,” Bellamy said, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze, feeling much lighter than he had in days. “Are you excited about the train?”  
  
“Yeah,” she said, and he was glad to hear a smile in her voice. She sighed and added, “I just wish Lincoln could see it too.”  
  
“He will,” Echo spoke up gently. Bellamy watched as Echo touched her fingertips to her own chest, and he knew she was signaling to Octavia, reminding her of the cord hanging around her neck, and the pouch that held Lincoln’s ashes. He saw Echo smiling at his sister, and Bellamy was glad that Octavia had another friend.  
  
He supposed Echo was, by now, his friend too, but he had so few of those, and had lost so many of the ones he _had_ made, that it seemed strange to even think it. Ironically, though he’d always had run of the Ark and interacted with many people every day, it was his sheltered little sister, practically alone for the first sixteen years of her life, who made friends most easily between the two of them. He was glad of it.  
  
It was strange to imagine that Echo would soon be gone. She had become so integral to this journey, he’d forgotten that although she was acting as their guide, her true reasons for being with them was so that she could go home.  
  
He let out a sigh and urged his and Octavia’s horse forward, Echo following after. Lexa was bound and gagged on the fourth horse, which was tied by a length of rope to Echo’s, and the commander had been sedated again for good measure. They had to go single file because the ridge was rocky, but they picked their way down carefully. There were only a few more hours until sunrise, and then they would leave their horses behind to travel the final leg of their long journey north.  
  
At the bottom of the hill, the ground leveled out and they could see the light from the city in the distance. It had been strange enough getting used to the electric lights of Camp Jaha after so long with only firelight at the dropship, but now to see a Grounder city alight with real electricity, it was almost unbelievable.  
  
As they neared the town they could make out more detail. Bellamy saw the source of their power, a plant that sat quietly at one end of town, spewing white smoke into the sky, and he wondered how old it was, and what other vestiges of industry might survive across the world. Even the houses and other buildings were different than those in tonDC; instead of being made out of what materials people could salvage from the forest, the people of Polis had repaired existing infrastructure. It gave a sense that the bombs had dropped far enough away from here that most of the existing structures, at least, had been left intact.  
  
“Where’s the train?” Octavia asked, and Bellamy could hear in her voice that she was, indeed, eager to see it.  
  
“On the west side of town,” Lia answered over her shoulder as she turned her horse around to face them. “Many travellers pass through Polis, so we should not draw undue attention, but still you must be careful and heed any warnings that I give you. Is that understood?”  
  
They all nodded, and Lia seemed satisfied with their agreement. “She will be our biggest problem,” she said, sliding off her horse to the ground and nodding her head toward Lexa. “No one can recognise her.”  
  
“Even if they don’t recognise her, they might think it’s weird that she’s passed out and tied to her horse,” Octavia said dryly. Lia gave her a sharp look as she passed their horse, and Bellamy applied light pressure to his sister’s hand to remind her to behave. He knew she hated it, but he also knew that it was what was going to keep her alive.  
  
Everyone dismounted from their horses, and Bellamy saw an expression of apprehension on Echo’s face that he knew must match his own. The three of them watched as Lia started to untie the ropes that bound Lexa.  
  
“Help me,” Lia said over her shoulder to Bellamy. He stepped forward and did as she asked, loosening the bindings around Lexa’s arms, legs, thighs, and stomach, separating her from the irritated horse. He eased her into his arms, surprised again at just how little she was as he eased her onto the ground. A gentle breeze fluttered the tuft of the blue feather in between two fingers on her left hand.  
  
Lia went back to her saddlebags and she returned with an armful of cloths. “Sit her up and help me,” she said to Bellamy. Again, he obeyed her. He held Lexa’s unconscious body against his chest and shifted her around to make it easier for Lia to dress her up like a strange, comatose doll. He could feel Lexa’s cheek pressed against him, but he couldn’t feel any life in her. He wondered just how long someone could survive in that state. Lia dressed Lexa in a long, shapeless dress that covered her from chin to toe, and then she reached over and plucked the dart from her neck.  
  
A moment later, Lexa came to with a jolt and she brought her hands up, pounding them against Bellamy’s chest.  
  
“Hey, hey, it’s just me, I’m not going to hurt you,” he assured her, but she continued to struggle so he let her go. She backed away from him on her hands, glaring.  
  
Her eyes darted around as she took in everything- Lia, Bellamy, Octavia, Echo, and the city. “We have reached Polis,” she said, her voice a growl. Turning her gaze on Octavia she said, “This is your last chance to do the right thing. Return me to my people, and I will make you _Trikru_ again.”  
  
Bellamy glanced at his sister and saw her swallow, saw the uncertainty and hesitation flash through her eyes, and he felt it mirrored in his own, but- very subtly- he shook his head at her. Lia would kill them all if they went against her now, he was sure of that.  
  
“No one here will help you,” Lia said, setting down bowls of food and water. “Eat and drink.”  
  
Lexa shot out with her hand and toppled the bowl of water, spilling its contents into the earth. “Get. Away,” she bit out, her blue eyes full of fury.  
  
“Do not make me _force_ -feed you,” Lia snapped back. She brought out the clay cistern and refilled the bowl of water but Lexa looked like she was ready to topple it again.  
  
“Wait,” Bellamy said, holding out a hand to Lexa. He looked at Lia and added, “Look, just- let me do this, okay? It’ll go smoother.”  
  
“Very well,” the child said, still annoyed. “But hurry- I am eager for this to be finished.” She walked back to her horse, rummaging around in her saddlebags.  
  
“You need to eat,” Bellamy told Lexa. “And drink water. Those darts take a lot out of you.”  
  
“What you are doing is _wrong,”_ the commander snapped. Bellamy wondered if he was imagining it, but he was sure he heard the tiniest hint of fear now, under her anger. “Do you know you are bringing me to my death?” she asked, looking at Octavia again. “The queen _will_ kill me.”  
  
“O… just give us a minute, will you?” he asked. He could see the uncertainty growing in his sister’s eyes and he didn’t want Lia to pick up on it. “Echo?” He raised his eyebrows at her, silently asking her to go with Octavia.  
  
The two women moved away, Octavia looking nervously over her shoulder at him as she walked with Echo to get some food and water for themselves. Bellamy turned his attention back to Lexa. He watched her for a moment, not saying anything, not sure _what_ to say.  
  
“Please eat,” he said finally. “And drink. You need your strength for whatever’s coming next.”  
  
“I _know_ what’s coming next,” she said, though to his relief she took a drink and started picking at the food. “There is no love lost between myself and Elody of the Ice Nation. If you carry me to her, then you carry me to my death.”  
  
“For what it’s worth, I didn’t know it was you,” Bellamy said softly. “Lia made us promise to collect a bounty for the queen, in exchange for letting us go after Octavia. She’d been taken by another mountain.”  
  
“Another mountain?” Lexa repeated, sounding as shocked and doubtful as Bellamy had been when Lincoln first mentioned it.  
  
“I know it sounds crazy, but believe me- it’s true.”  
  
“There is no larger crime than the one you are committing,” Lexa warned him. “You are killing the Commander of the Coalition, and when it is discovered that you have done this, you will feel the pain of a thousand deaths. You, Echo, _and_ your sister.”  
  
Bellamy’s jaw tightened as she threatened them. He wanted to say so many things- that she was wrong, that the queen just wanted to talk, that she wasn’t going to be killed, and that even if she was, no one would ever know they’d had a hand in it. But he didn’t know if any of that was true or not.  
  
“I had no choice,” he said finally. “I don’t want you to die… but I couldn’t let Octavia die either. This was the price.”  
  
“So you would start a war over one girl?” Lexa demanded.  
  
Bellamy’s eyes flickered to Octavia and he nodded. "Over _that_ girl? Yeah. And over Clarke too.”  
  
“You are a _fool,”_ she growled. “And now you follow that _thing_ into Polis for what- _Clarke?_ And what if Clarke is already dead? What if all that waits for you in that place is a trap?”  
  
“Then I guess I’ll die too,” he answered, softly. He shook his head. “She has to be alive. All this… it has to be _for_ something.”  
  
“You Sky People,” Lexa spat. “Always concerned with fairness and justice, believing that if you are good, you will be rewarded, and that the worth of one person you _love_ is higher than that of a thousand strangers. Where did this absurd notion come from? What is _wrong_ with you?”  
  
“What about that woman you told me about- the one you loved?” he snapped, losing his temper a bit in the face of all her insults. “The one the Ice Nation took- wouldn’t you have saved her, if you had a chance?”  
  
_“No,”_ Lexa seethed. “Not if the price was war and death for countless others. I have lost family _and_ lovers. I have lost more than _you,_ and yet I would still make the same decisions that I have, even knowing all that I know now. The lives of the many are worth more than the lives of the few. It may pain you to leave someone you love behind to die, but if it means saving a hundred others, a thousand others, generations of others, does it not make sense to walk away?”  
  
“What are you talking about?” he asked her, frowning. “Are you talking about Clarke?” Lexa dropped her eyes to the ground and she just sat there, glaring at the earth. “You are, aren’t you?” Bellamy asked.  
  
He thought back to when she’d come to Camp Jaha, weeks ago, to tell him that Clarke had been taken. She had implied, then, that the queen had wanted Clarke because she believed that she was important to Lexa, that Lexa loved her.  
  
“What is it between you and Clarke?” he asked, as suddenly it dawned on him that he might already know the answer.  
  
Lexa met his eyes. He could see that she was afraid, and it reminded him how young she really was, how harsh this world had to be. He couldn’t imagine the life she’d led- not really. Could he really blame her for her ruthlessness?  
  
“Nothing,” she spat, but he could hear the pain in her voice as she said it. “There is _nothing_ between the living and the dead.”  
  
“Look,” he said gently, keeping her eyes. “If you love her, then you should understand why I’m doing these things. If there was another way- _believe_ me- I’d take it.”  
  
“You’re a _liar,”_ she hissed. “When you refused to give Finn over to die, even knowing that it would save your entire camp, I had thought you naïve. But now I see that you are something far worse- you would bring war down on twelve clans of people just to save the lives of a handful, and you see that as a _virtue.”_  
  
“Not everyone can be the noble leader, Lexa,” he said softly. “Not everyone is a hero. Some of us just want to keep our families alive.” When he said that he didn’t just mean Octavia, he meant Clarke too, and even the rest of the hundred, or what was left of them- they had all become his family here on the ground.  
  
“If I die, my successor will learn of your treachery,” she warned him. “You will not be able to run fast enough to escape the consequences of the things you are doing here tonight.”  
  
Lia appeared at Bellamy’s elbow and she looked up at him, holding out a wad of cloth. He took it, unrolled the gag and a headscarf that would cover everything but Lexa’s eyes. He nodded to Lia, and then he advanced on the commander.  
  
“Don’t struggle,” he warned her softly. “You know what she can do.”  
  
“Yours is the most selfish culture I have ever known,” she growled at him, but she stayed still as he approached her. “You should be wiped from the Earth.”  
  
Bellamy shook his head as he looked at her sadly. “Somebody already tried,” he told her, slipping the gag gently between her teeth and tying it tight. “That’s the only reason you exist.”


	41. 41- Clarke

Yana and Clarke were playing a game in their room, some kind of board with lots of little holes, and different coloured pegs, and Clarke was only just starting to get the hang of it. Apparently Yana thought it was very funny that she’d had no idea what it was, but luckily the younger girl was a patient teacher.  
  
They were giggling together when there was a knock at the door. One of Elody’s men stood outside, and he gave Clarke a slight bow of respect as he said, “Apologies, _Wanheda._ The Queen is requesting your presence beside her.”  
  
It had been a few days since Elody had wanted Clarke for anything but meals, so this seemed important. Nodding her head, Clarke told him, “Wait outside, I’ll be there soon.” She had gotten used to talking to Elody’s men- and the ones assigned to her as guards- in a commanding way. After all, it was what they and the queen expected of her.  
  
“Dress me,” she said to Yana, going to the mirror and frowning at her face. “And we should fix my hair- it looks terrible.”  
  
“You have spent much of the day in bed,” Yana pointed out, smiling a little as she pulled together her things and sat Clarke down in a chair. “Don’t worry, I will have you beautiful in no time.” She had a big smile on her face, and Clarke couldn’t help but smile back, despite her nerves about why Elody would suddenly call for her now.  
  
Yana set her wooden comb in a bowl of perfumed oil and set it aside. “You should have a bath, but there isn’t time,” she said, her brow knitting in concern. She hurried to fill a bowl with water and found a clean cloth. Clarke allowed the younger girl to wash her hands, face, and neck, glad that she didn’t have to do it herself so she had more time to think. Soon she felt clean and fresh, and Yana began running the comb- now soft and fragrant- through her long blonde hair.  
  
Clarke closed her eyes and felt herself dozing just a little as Yana’s hands separated her hair into sections and began forming plaits. This felt more elaborate than normal, as though Yana too sensed the importance of what was happening.  
  
“It is finished,” Yana said suddenly, jolting Clarke out of her light nap. She stood and looked into the mirror, nodding her head in approval. “Come, we must hurry,” Yana told her, grabbing for the kohl and starting on Clarke’s eyes with quick, efficient strokes. Clarke watched the girl’s soft brown eyes as she studied her face carefully, laying down the paint with expert hands.  
  
Once Clarke’s hair and face was done, Yana pulled her to her feet and removed most of her clothing. Clarke had long since gotten used to being dressed by someone else, and she was no longer shy to stand naked in front of Yana. Normally she would have been uncomfortable to be nude with anyone, but it was as though the servant girl was her sister, or someone who didn’t really count- not really. Yana helped Clarke into leather pants dyed a deep purple and edged with gold thread, a forest green shirt with maroon laces that tied across her chest, doeskin boots with a thousand buttons, and her most prized possession- the coat that Elody had given her on the day their alliance was made.  
  
“You look perfect,” Yana said, the admiration clear in her voice. Clarke smiled gently at the girl, and then she nodded her head. She left her there in the room, going outside and falling into step beside Elody’s man. He led her out of the inn and down the streets, towards a building she’d never been in before. It was a single storey, but its ceilings stretched far above their heads, and it had one wall made entirely of glass. Only a few panes here and there had been broken, and the gaps they left had been replaced with trellises of ivy.  
  
Elody was waiting inside, and she was standing with another woman who Clarke knew was the village leader of Polis- Amat was her name.  
  
Reaching the two of them, Clarke gave a short bow of her head to show respect, and the two women did the same.  
  
“Welcome, Clarke,” Elody said warmly to her. “I trust you have been keeping well while I have been kept busy with business?”  
  
“Yes,” Clarke said with a nod and a warm smile of her own. “I’ve been exploring.” She looked to Amat and said, “Your city is so beautiful.”  
  
“Thank you,” Amat replied.  
  
“Clarke, I have asked you here today because Amat has requested my help in dealing with some of her prisoners,” Elody explained. “As you have a particular talent for doling out fair punishments, I thought of you immediately, of course.”  
  
Smiling at Amat, Clarke said, “I’d be happy to help you.”  
  
“Excellent,” Amat said brightly. “Come along.”  
  
She was led to a room with a dais not unlike the one in Lexa’s tent, and not unlike Elody’s back in Tawa, and the three women sat on chairs spaced equally apart on top of it. Clarke knew this was a sign of great respect, that Amat was acknowledging Elody and Clarke to be as important as she was despite the fact that they were guests in her village. Clarke couldn’t help but wonder how it was that Polis still didn’t know of the Ice Nation’s disloyalty to the coalition. She wondered if an envoy might be on its way, and how things would change when and if it arrived.  
  
Much like it had been in Tawa, the prisoners that Amat brought before them seemed to have committed all sorts of crimes, from mild to severe. Just like in the Ice Nation, both victims and the accused could plead their case before punishment was doled out and enforced. Elody deferred to Clarke again and again, and Clarke could sense that even Amat respected her judgments. She felt good to be keeping things fair, and although there were a few difficult cases, she felt that she arbitrated well.  
  
When they broke for lunch, Amat regaled Clarke with stories about Polis’s history and her own life, while the three of them were served decadent food, just the smell of which made Clarke’s mouth water. Amat had lived a very interesting life, and she was an excellent storyteller. Clarke was fascinated and hardly wanted any of it to end by the time their plates were cleared away and the next wave of prisoners began.  
  
There was a particularly difficult case after lunch, that of a man who had killed his neighbour over a land dispute. The victim was there, and she was crying out for justice, demanding to be the one to put the man to death for what he’d done. Clarke asked many questions, but it was obvious that the woman’s husband had been killed out of greed and nothing more- cold-blooded and calculated.  
  
“And what should the punishment be?” Elody asked her, once she’d waited patiently for all the questions to be asked.  
  
Clarke felt the eyes of both Elody and Amat on her as she said, only a little hesitant, “Death.”  
  
“The kill should go to the victim, should it not?” Amat asked her.  
  
The widow looked ready to pounce, and Clarke couldn’t really think of an argument against it- the man was guilty, the woman had been wronged, and he was sentenced to die. Why shouldn’t this widow be the one to carry it out, if it would bring her a kind of peace?  
  
“Yes,” Clarke said, nodding her head. “But it must be swift. He can’t suffer.”  
  
“Very well,” Elody said. The woman was brought a sword, and the man was held down with his neck exposed. Clarke forced herself to watch as the woman brought the sword down with such fury that she nearly decapitated the man with that one strike. It was messy, but Clarke knew it hadn’t been painful.  
  
“You did the right thing, Clarke,” Elody said gently, once the man’s body was taken away, the blood mopped up, and the widow had thanked them and left. Clarke had taken special notice of the peace in the woman’s eyes as she was led away to go home to her children.  
  
“He deserved it,” Clarke allowed. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”  
  
“And if you did, then I would be concerned,” Elody said gently. “To speak as I believe you might, justice does not have to be enjoyable, does it? It only has to be fair.”  
  
Clarke gave her a tight smile, hoping that maybe she was rubbing off on the queen a bit. But the death had still disturbed her, and she was relieved when Elody announced that the next three prisoners would be the last to stand judgment. She had an ache in her neck and she was ready for a nap, and Amat looked similarly exhausted.  
  
“Clarke and I can handle these last few,” Elody said to Amat gently. “Go to your rest- you are with child, and could use the extra sleep.”  
  
“Congratulations,” Clarke said, surprised- the woman must have been newly pregnant, as there was no sign of it beneath her clothes.  
  
“Thank you,” Amat said warmly. “Both of you. Rest well.”  
  
“And you,” Clarke and Elody both said, standing respectfully as Amat moved away with her guards.  
  
Two men were brought in, accused of stealing from the village granary. Clarke questioned them carefully and ascertained that they their thievery wasn’t to support a starving family, but to trade for extra goods. They were greedy and deserved to be punished, so she sentenced them to do free labour in the same granary they had stolen from. Everyone seemed satisfied with that, and they were led away.  
  
The final prisoner, a girl who looked to be fairly close to Clarke’s own age, was brought in and forced to kneel down on the floor in front of the dais.  
  
As usual, one of Elody’s men announced her in the standard format, “Here stands Lexa-”  
  
Clarke’s breath caught in her throat at the name, but no one seemed to notice. She wondered how common it was.  
  
“- from Delphi,” the man went on.  
  
Clarke looked at the girl, dressed head to toe in robes that hid everything but her eyes. But she already knew who she was looking at.  
  
“- who was once Commander of Twelve Clans.”  
  
Holding her breath, Clarke met the girl’s eyes and she saw that familiar blue, the stoic, determined stare of someone she had once known. Lexa didn’t say a word, but she spoke volumes with that gaze.  
  
Without even knowing what she was doing, Clarke jumped to her feet. “What _is_ this?” she asked. She was talking to Elody, but she was staring at Lexa.  
  
“I’m sorry, Clarke,” Elody said calmly. “You cannot pass judgment on this particular prisoner. You are here to speak as her victim, to attest to her crimes. _I_ will be the one to decide her fate.”  
  
“But how?” Clarke asked, dumbfounded, horrified, confused, frightened, appalled, and something else, something worse that she couldn’t put her finger on- something that she didn’t like. Smug? Self-righteous? She didn’t know exactly _what_ she was feeling.  
  
Clarke stared at the queen and asked, “How is she _here?”  
  
_ “I brought her,” Elody answered calmly, meeting Clarke’s eyes, a calmness in her own gaze. “I brought her here for you.”  
  
Staring at the queen, Clarke had no idea what to say, and for a moment there was just an eerie and expectant silence.  
  
Finally Clarke said, “She’s allowed to speak for herself, isn’t she?”  
  
Elody nodded to her guards, who walked to Lexa and pulled the headscarf away. Now Clarke understood why Lexa hadn’t yet said a word. The guard untied the gag and then stepped away from the commander, who got to her feet, eyes full of fury as she looked from Elody’s guards, to the queen, and back to Clarke.  
  
“And so we meet again,” Lexa said, her voice dripping with venom as she looked her up and down. “Clarke of the Ice Nation.”  
  
Clarke swallowed, and she was the first to drop her gaze. Oh, how she wished they were having this conversation in private. Quietly she asked Lexa, “Do you have anything to say for yourself?’  
  
“Only that I have committed no crime,” Lexa replied bitterly. “And even if I had, you and this _woman_ have no authority to pass judgment over _me.”  
  
_ “You will speak with _respect_ when you address the queen,” one of the guards nearby growled at her.  
  
“She is no queen of _mine,”_ Lexa answered, seething.  
  
Clarke watched Elody nod to one of her men, and he started toward Lexa. Clarke could see a rolled up bit of leather in his hand, and she knew exactly what that was- the darts… those horrible darts.  
  
“Wait!” she said, standing upright from her throne. Everyone stopped. Turning to Elody she said, “This is _not_ how we dispense judgment.”  
  
The queen paused, then waved her hand at the man with the darts, backing him off. “Very well,” she said to Clarke. “Carry on.”  
  
Clarke stepped off the dais and walked right up to Lexa, invading her personal space, but Lexa didn’t move backward to increase the distance between them. For a long moment they just stared at each other, and Clarke couldn’t help but feel her gaze like a stab in her heart. But Lexa had brought them here, to this place- it was _her_ doing, _her_ fault that they had to go through this now.  
  
For a long moment they were silent, just staring into each other’s eyes. Clarke couldn’t believe it- here they were, the two of them together in Polis, but everything else was so wrong.  
  
Finally Clarke said, “Say something!” She could hear the desperation in her own voice.  
  
“What do you want me to _say,_ Clarke?” Lexa growled, her eyes like fire.  
  
Clarke shook her head slowly, trying to figure out the answer to that question. “I want you to say that you regret what you did,” she said finally. “I want you to say that you’re _sorry.”_ Lexa just stood there, fuming, silent. Clarke took a step back, shaking her head. “But you won’t, will you? Because you’re not sorry at all.”  
  
_“No,_ Clarke,” Lexa answered. “I’m _not_ sorry. I did nothing wrong, and I will not apologise for doing the right thing.”  
  
“But you can feel that you’re _right_ and still be _sorry,”_ Clarke said, exasperated. “You can still care that you hurt me, that you left us all to die.”  
  
“I do _care,_ Clarke,” Lexa snapped. “But _caring_ and _regret_ are not the same things.”  
  
Clarke squeezed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth. They were getting nowhere fast, and her frustration was matched only by Lexa stubbornness.  
  
“Enough,” Elody’s voice came from behind her. “Lexa has spoken for herself, now we must move on. Clarke, as a victim, you may also have a turn to speak.”  
  
Clarke just stood there, staring at Lexa, shaking her head. “How did we get here?” she whispered. “What have we become?”  
  
Something flickered through Lexa’s eyes and she seemed to soften, just for a moment. “We are what we have always been, Clarke,” she said, with surprising gentleness. “We are tools of history, you and I, and nothing more. The burdens of leadership lay heavy on our shoulders so that others can be spared that same weight. Do what you must, as _I_ have done.”  
  
“Clarke,” Elody called out sharply. “Come back here.” Clarke put one foot in front of the other, turning back toward the dais, but her eyes stayed on Lexa’s the whole way. When she sat down next to the queen, Elody handed her a cup of fragrant water and watched her drain the whole thing.  
  
She asked, “Do you wish to speak, or not?”  
  
She hardly knew where to begin, and she wasn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of laying out all of her and Lexa’s baggage in front of everyone in that room. Finally she just shook her head and said, “No. I don’t have anything to say.”  
  
Elody looked disappointed. “I believe you are making a mistake.”  
  
Clarke met the queen’s eyes and said, “Maybe. But it’s my mistake to make.”  
  
“Lexa is guilty of war crimes,” the queen declared, ignoring Clarke’s comment and addressing the room. “She left our ally, the Sky People, to certain death at Mount Weather. She betrayed her _former_ ally, the Ice Nation, by making deals and strategies without including us in the decision-making, even though we were supposedly part of her _coalition._ And now she has been brought here to answer for those crimes.” She stood up and said, _“Leksa kom Trikru,”_ using Lexa’s personal name and not her title as a clear sign of disrespect, “I hereby sentence you to death.”  
  
Clarke had seen that coming, but still- the finality of it shocked her. What shocked her even more was when Elody said next, “As her victim, you have the right to be her executioner.” Nodding to her guards she said, “Give the _Wanheda_  a knife.”  
  
The weapon wasn’t big, but it felt heavy in Clarke’s hand, and it looked strange. Two guards advanced on Lexa, and Clarke watched as she fought and struggled and lost. They held her, standing behind her, one gripping each arm, keeping her toes just off the ground so she couldn’t gain any leverage.  
  
Clarke stood on the dais for a long moment, just staring at her. Then she felt pressure on her back, Elody’s hand giving her a firm but gentle push, and she was walking toward Lexa.  
  
Her ears were rushing- she could hear her own heartbeat, her blood pumping- as she walked towards Lexa.  
  
“Remember tonDC,” the queen droned, the only sound to break through. Elody’s voice had an eerie quality; Clarke felt strange, like she’d been drugged. “Remember how you felt at the doors of Mount Weather,” Elody continued. “Remember all the lives that were lost, and could have been lost, because of her selfishness. Remember how she loved you and then threw you aside.”  
  
Lexa’s eyes were wide, but they were no longer angry. She didn’t exactly look desperate, not terrified, but she was definitely afraid.  
  
Clarke reached her and stumbled a little, even though the floor was smooth. Her hand ended up on Lexa’s shoulder, which she used to steady herself. Looking into Lexa’s eyes, she saw the woman’s face swimming before her, and she blinked back her tears so she could look at her properly.  
  
“I didn’t want this,” she whispered, as though she could change it, as though anything could ever be different.  
  
Lexa looked back at Clarke, and it seemed like she wanted to do something with her hands- but Clarke didn’t know if it was to attack or not. The guards didn’t either, so they kept holding Lexa tightly.  
  
“Remember all that she did to you,” Elody’s voice came again from behind her. Clarke gripped the knife harder in her hand. It felt unreal.  
  
“Clarke,” Lexa said, and her voice was quiet, tender even. “Be strong.”  
  
She was no longer trying to fight for herself, no longer trying to stop this. All she did was look up at the ceiling, close her eyes, and declare, “Death is not the end,” as though to comfort herself.  
  
_“Yu gonplei ste odon,”_ Clarke heard herself say, and then she reeled her hand back and plunged the knife into Lexa’s chest.  
  
She stabbed her where she’d stabbed Finn- _because of Lexa.  
  
_ She stabbed her where her own chest had ached after tonDC- _because of Lexa.  
  
_ She stabbed her where she’d felt broken, alone and abandoned- _because of Lexa._  
  
As the life started to drain from Lexa’s eyes the guards released her, no longer a threat, and she fell forward into Clarke’s arms. The knife clattered to the floor as Clarke looked on in horror. Cradling Lexa to the ground, Clarke felt the tears sliding down her cheeks as she yelled at her, angrily, painfully, “I didn’t want this!”  
  
Lexa drew in a deep breath, struggling with her last bit of life, and she looked into Clarke’s face. “Do not hide from what you are,” she whispered to her.  
  
But it wasn’t who Clarke wanted to be; it never had been. Yet she kept becoming that person, over and over; kept hurting people, killing people she’d loved. When would it ever stop?  
  
After Lexa was dead, Elody stepped off the dais and pulled Clarke away from the body, wrapping her up in her arms. Clarke wept into Elody’s pretty gown, soaking the front of it, as the queen’s fingers stroked softly over her braids.  
  
“You have done the right thing,” she murmured. “You have avenged yourself, and many others.”  
  
Clarke choked down her sobs and tried to make herself numb, at least until she could be alone. “Yeah,” she whispered finally, hollowly, managing to slow her tears enough that she could look back to Lexa’s body, small and lifeless. “And now I get to live with it.”


	42. 42- Bellamy

The second they had walked into Polis, Lia had known exactly where to go and who to see. It was clear that this had all been pre-arranged, though Bellamy wasn’t sure if Lexa’s presence had been part of the original plan or not. They were immediately assigned a guard, one which Bellamy could only assume was supplied by the infamous queen.  
  
They were taken into a building, given a spacious suite of rooms- several big, luxurious bedrooms opening into a common lounge area with comfortable couches and a feast laid out on the table.  
  
“Lexa and I have business with the queen,” Lia told them, and before anyone could ask any questions, she left with the guard, who pulled Lexa along by her arm. Bellamy couldn’t help but be unsettled by the desperate look Lexa had given him right before she was whisked from the room.  
  
It was only when a couple of hours had passed and they had finished eating that they found the main door to the room was locked. There were windows, but they were made up of slim panels of glass no wider than a few fingers, and not suitable to climb out of.  
  
“Prisoners again,” Octavia spat, pacing the floor.  
  
Bellamy would have tried to calm her, but he was alarmed himself.  
  
“What’s going on?” he asked Echo, who seemed just as worried as he felt.  
  
She shook her head. “I do not know.”  
  
But they didn’t have to wait long; Lia was gone a couple of hours before she returned, nodding to Bellamy. “Clarke will see you now.”  
  
He felt his heart soar; he couldn’t believe it- just like that? Jumping to his feet, he grinned at the others and said, “Come on.”  
  
“No,” Lia spoke up. “Only you. She will see you alone or not at all.”  
  
As quickly as the excitement had risen in his chest, he felt it collapse into his stomach. He looked at Octavia, whose angry gaze was fixed wholly on Lia.  
  
“She’s one of Clarke’s people too,” he tried, arguing with Lia without arguing.  
  
“She will be perfectly safe here,” Lia answered evenly. “You have my word.”  
  
Bellamy was absolutely torn. He hated- _hated-_ the idea of leaving Octavia behind, didn’t want to let her out of his sight for a second, but Lia was the only person who could bring him to Clarke.  
  
“It’s okay, Bell,” Octavia said, her jaw tight. “I’ll be fine.” He turned to her and looked at her helplessly, wishing he could come up with another option.  
  
“So help me God, if you’re not in this room when I come back…” He trailed off, letting that comment hang in the air, as he pulled her to his chest. He felt her arms wrap around him, her hand anchoring in his hair, and over her shoulder his eyes slid desperately to Echo.  
  
“Don’t worry,” she said grimly. “We will look after each other.”  
  
Gratefully, he nodded. Octavia was a good with a sword, but there was no sword in this room. He pulled back from his sister and said, “I’ll be right back.”  
  
He could see she didn’t like it, but she nodded her head. “It’s okay, Bell,” she said again. “Just go get Clarke. You have to.”  
  
Angrily, helplessly, he turned and followed Lia out of that room. “Your word,” he reminded her as they walked. “You gave me your _word._ Is that worth anything?”  
  
“As much as yours,” she answered tactfully.  
  
He wasn’t sure how to take that so he just said, “Okay… good.”  
  
He was led out into the streets, and he looked back to make sure he could memorise the place where Octavia was, just in case he would need that information later. He followed Lia down the street, and she led him around several corners before bringing him inside a small but immaculate building. She led him up some stairs and down a long corridor, and up ahead he could see a door, flanked by two burly men with severe expressions. But they did not seemed troubled by his and Lia’s approach.  
  
“Clarke is inside,” she told him as they stopped. “She does not know you are here.”  
  
“Is she alone?” he asked.  
  
Lia nodded her head. “She is. I will leave now, and be back for you later. Do not run, Bellamy,” she warned. “These guards will kill you if you do.”  
  
He wouldn’t run, not from Clarke, not when Octavia was locked in a room across town. “Don’t worry,” he said to her, and she nodded her head before turning and walking away.  
  
Bellamy ignored the two guards as he drew in a few deep breaths, preparing himself for whatever might be inside this room. Finally, when he felt brave enough, he raised his hand, seized the doorknob, and turned.  
  
Inside, the room was lit softly with candles, despite the fact that electric lights were suspended from the ceiling and showed signs of being maintained. It seemed that Clarke preferred the firelight, and he couldn’t help but smile at the knowledge that she had likely become as uncomfortable as he was with electricity- perhaps more so.  
  
Stepping into the room, he closed the door behind him. He expected her to appear, to greet him or at least question this stranger in her room, but there was no sign of her. He felt a stab of fear, wondering if it was, indeed, a trap as Lexa had warned him, but he didn’t care. He was on this path now- whether it led to Clarke or to death, he had no choice but to see it through.  
  
The chamber was large and opulent, the furnishings lavish. Only when he stepped past the threshold could he really see anything properly, and he crept forward slowly, keeping his footsteps quiet, holding his breath.  
  
All at once he heard something breaking through the silence of the room- what sounded like crying, little gasps and half-swallowed sobs. Even after all these weeks, he knew Clarke’s voice instantly.  
  
Suddenly, he couldn’t get to her fast enough. He rushed forward and at first he couldn’t see her, but then he caught sight of a blonde head just visible between the two beds, capped in an elaborate mass of braids.  
  
He rounded the corner of the first bed and he took in the image of her all at once- those braids, her eyes lined in black and blue, smudged a little from her tears, and her elaborate clothes- leather and cotton decorated with strands of coloured thread. But there was no mistaking her. Even under all of that makeup and the strange clothes and the new hairstyle, it was still Clarke.  
  
Despite trying not to make noise, she was crying heavily enough that she didn’t hear him approach, and only when he knelt down in front of her did she register his presence. Her eyes widened in obvious shock as she saw him there, and such a jolt of surprise ran through her that her tears stopped abruptly.  
  
For a long moment, neither of them moved or said anything- they just stared at each other, as if neither knew where to begin or who to be, what to say after all these weeks apart, each one more scared than the other.  
  
It was Clarke who moved first, which was appropriate since she had been the one who’d walked away. Now she launched herself into his arms with such abandon that it was as though she was trying to erase all those months of separation with one embrace.  
  
Bellamy caught her and held her tightly, his arms wrapping around her as he pulled her into his chest. A moment longer and he was redoubling his efforts, tightening his arms, trying to pull her even more into the hug, as though he could never get her close enough to make up for all the time they’d spent apart.  
  
Neither of them was in a hurry to let go, and so they didn’t- for a very long time they just sat there, locked together, listening to each other’s breathing. It was only when Bellamy wanted to look at her face that he pulled back from her at all, and even then he kept hold of her body, only separating them enough so he could look her in the eyes. She was no longer crying, she was smiling big, and he knew he too was wearing a grin that rivaled her own.  
  
They just stared at each other, Clarke’s fingers tight around his arms, his hands pressed firmly against her back, for what seemed like forever.  
  
Finally, Clarke was the first to speak when she said, “I have so much to tell you.”  
  
He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “Me too,” he said. “We have a lot to talk about… but can we do it later?” He tightened his arms around her again and she didn’t protest, she just turned her head sideways into his chest and let him rest his chin on top of her hair. He felt her breathing, warm and soft on the side of his neck.  
  
“Why were you crying?” he asked finally, not moving.  
  
“I thought you wanted to talk about it later,” she spoke softly, her breath tickling his skin, and he could feel the smile in her voice.  
  
He chuckled softly. “I guess I can’t resist.” He’d never had a whole conversation before while hugging someone, but every time he thought about letting her go, his body wouldn’t cooperate, so he just kept holding onto her.  
  
Again, it was Clarke who moved first, and she pulled back from him a little, again only far enough to look at his face. Her eyes moved slowly from side to side as she searched his gaze. “You look the same,” she said finally, and she sounded glad of it.  
  
“Wish I could say the same,” he answered gently. He saw a flash of something- he wasn’t sure what- pass through her gaze and he felt a sense of loss, remembering the days when he could read those eyes like a book.  
  
“How are you here?” she asked him next. She didn’t seem in any more of a hurry than he was to let go of him, so he kept his arms around her.  
  
“It’s a long story,” he said. “How are _you_ here?”  
  
Her smile was brief as she repeated his words, “It’s a long story.”  
  
“Well we’re getting nowhere fast,” he joked, but neither of them really seemed to mind. In the end it was their legs that protested their continued embrace, both of them stiffening up from being down on their knees on the wooden floor for so long. Bellamy stood first, offering her a hand, which she took. They sat down on the edge of one of the beds, staying close, his left leg touching her right from knee to hip, her right hand on his left arm and his right hand covering it.  
  
“I don’t know where to start,” Clarke admitted. He watched her carefully, saw the way the firelight gentled the curve of her jaw and flickered in her haunted eyes.  
  
He tried to imagine what she had been doing for the last few months- where she’d gone, what she’d seen, who she’d become. He had expected to find her locked up, or worse, and yet here she was, surrounded by opulence and dressed head to toe as a Grounder. He frowned for the first time since he’d seen her, as his joy at seeing her again, at seeing her safe, gave way to curiosity, and then to something else.  
  
Bellamy stood up abruptly and walked to the window, looking out over the city, the bustling streets full of people. He stood there so long that he felt the mood shift in the room, felt the hesitation grow in Clarke’s breath as the tension seeped back into his body.  
  
“You’re angry?” she asked, finally.  
  
He let out a long breath, shaking his head as he turned back to face her. Angry was such a simple word for such complexity of feeling. Hesitantly, he raised his eyes and met her gaze. “You left us,” he said, quietly.  
  
He watched her grow as tense as he felt and for a long time she said nothing, she just stared at the floor. Finally, softly, she said,  “I know.”  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut, and he spread his arms backward, pressing his hands against the windowsill so he’d have something to grip. He watched Clarke’s eyes trail to his hands, watched her reaction as he squeezed until his fingers turned white.  
  
“Bellamy-“  
  
“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “No, Clarke.” He didn’t know if this was really a fight or not, because both their voices were so quiet.  
  
She stood up from the bed, slowly, but she didn’t approach him. Her face had such an expression of guilt and agony that he wanted to take every word back, but he couldn’t. All he could do was keep going as he said, “The people you swore to lead… to protect… the people who relied on you? You just left them.”  
  
“I knew they’d be safe with you,” she protested. “I knew you’d take care of them- that they’d be okay.”  
  
Any softness left in him disappeared as he felt his temper flare and he shoved himself off the windowsill, pacing away from her and then whirling back. “But what about _me?”_ he demanded. “Did you think _I’d_ be okay without you? Without _us?”_ He drew in a deep breath, shook his head. “When you left I had to carry everything alone.”  
  
“I had no choice, Bellamy,” she said, and it sounded like a plea.  
  
“No, Clarke, _I_ had no choice!” he snapped. It was like there were two parts of him- the one that was angry and the one that was relieved to have her back- and, like it had for much of his life, right now the angry part was winning.  
  
Clarke was shaking her head, her eyes on the floor, and he saw a single tear make its way down her cheek and pool in the curve of her upper lip. He felt a pang of guilt, to know that he had made her cry. She whispered, “I’m sorry.”  
  
Again, his eyes closed against the grief on her face as he said, “You can be sorry all you want… it’s still done, and I still don’t forgive you for it.”  
  
He heard her move and suddenly he felt her hand on his arm; he opened his eyes, hating the expression of utter turmoil on her face. “So that’s it?” she asked softly, her warm fingertips resting on his forearm.  
  
“I don’t know,” he admitted, holding her eyes. He wanted to pull her close again, but the pain was stronger even than that strong desire. “I don’t know,” he said again. “Maybe.”  
  
“Bellamy-”  
  
“I don’t _know,_ Clarke, okay?!” he snapped. She was too close. He pulled his arm back and walked away from her before turning back around. She didn’t follow him, she just stood there, hand still raised, staring at the floor. It broke his heart.  
  
He watched her take a deep breath, watched her draw strength from some hidden well inside of herself, one he’d seen her tap again and again, marveling at how it never seemed to run dry. When she turned to him, he could see the desperation in her eyes as she said, “Well, let’s figure it out, then. Together- like always. Can’t we do that?”  
  
He swallowed, shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said softly, his voice gruff. “It’s not ‘like always’ anymore, Clarke. It hasn’t been ‘like always’ for the last few months.” He met her eyes and whispered, “You’ve been gone longer than I ever knew you.”  
  
Bellamy could see the panic on her face and he hated that he was causing it. But, even more, he hated that everything he was saying was true. Urgently she said, “Then let’s go back to how it was before. Don’t you want that? _I_ do. Please, Bellamy… let’s go back to who we were. Who we _really_ are.” Again she reached for him, and again he felt the warmth of her fingers resting on his arm. “Neither of us want to be alone anymore, and we don’t have to be.”  
  
He hesitated, looked at her, into her eyes, that beautiful cornflower blue gaze that had calmed him a thousand times, instilled trust and loyalty, got him through heartache and fear. He wanted to fall into that gaze, but he was still holding himself back. Gritting his teeth, he whispered, “How can I ever trust you again?”  
  
He watched the pain lance through her face, and again his heart ached to know he was hurting her. He watched her gather up that strength once more before she spoke. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice soft. “I guess I’ll just have to prove that you can. But I didn’t walk away from _you,_ Bellamy. I walked away from what happened. I just… I couldn’t go through that gate knowing what I did.”  
  
He jerked away from her, his finger jabbing into the soft spot just below her collarbone as he shouted, “What _we_ did!”  
  
Clarke closed her eyes briefly, nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “What _we_ did.”  
  
Bellamy’s eyes were on the floor now, as he slowly shook his head, the fight going out of him. He turned his gaze back to Clarke, looking at her and feeling grief creeping in to replace his anger- grief for this fight, for how far they’d come only to fall so low, and grief because he was afraid that it couldn’t be rebuilt.  
  
“When you asked me to stay, I stayed,” he said. “But when _I_ asked, you just walked away. You shouldn’t have left, Clarke. You shouldn’t have made me do all this alone.”  
  
She nodded her head, and again he watched as a single tear- a tear of his making- slipped down the curve of her cheek. Without thinking about it he raised his hand and brushed it away with his thumb. Clarke looked up at him, meeting his eyes again, and he didn’t move, he just looked back at her, searching her face for something he could forgive.  
  
He found it in her eyes, that determined blue gaze that had first given him pause, first made him think that maybe this Princess was more than he'd given her credit for. With that, his whole body softened. And then, finally, with all his defenses shattered and all his burdens voiced, he pulled the most vulnerable shard of truth from his heart. Tenderly, he gave it over to her as he said, very softly, “I always thought you were the stronger one.”  
  
There was a short silence, and then the tiniest smile, sad and hopeful all at once, spread across Clarke’s lips. Once more, she touched his arm, and this time he didn’t pull away. Instead, he laid his hand on top of hers, squeezing her fingers lightly. Her eyes met his, and he could see the tears shining there as she held his gaze. Gently, quietly, she replied, “I guess I surprised both of us.”


	43. 43- Octavia

“You can stare out that window for as long as you like, but it will not make anything happen faster,” Echo said as she emerged from one of the bedrooms. Sunrise was just flooding through the city, and Octavia was watching how each electric light seemed to blink out as the sunlight grew and grew.  
  
“I thought he’d be back by now,” Octavia said, turning back and watching as the older woman went to the basin and washed her face. “I didn’t think it would take this long.”  
  
“It will take as long as it takes,” Echo answered, walking over and sitting down next to Octavia.  
  
“I hate being locked up,” Octavia said, on edge. “It makes me feel claustrophobic.”  
  
“I do not know that word,” Echo said, frowning.  
  
Octavia smiled a little. “That’s because your world doesn’t allow for it,” she said. “If I’m in a little place… if I know there’s no escape, then I get… I don’t know, scared, I guess. But it’s worse than just being scared. If it goes on long enough, I can’t breathe, my heart starts pounding in my ears… it’s awful.”  
  
“And that is because of how you were raised?” Echo asked her.  
  
“Yeah.” Octavia nodded. “The first time I met Lincoln, he locked me up.” She laughed softly. “I thought he was a psycho, but he was just trying to protect me… there were some other warriors after my brother and our friends, and he was afraid that if he let me go, I’d get myself killed, since I’d already almost done that once. But he wasn’t letting on that he spoke English, so he didn’t explain it to me. I was so scared, I hit him in the head with a rock when he came back to free me.”  
  
Echo gave Octavia a wry smile. “And yet he loved you anyway.”

“Yeah,” Octavia whispered, looking at her hands. “He loved me anyway.”  
  
Reaching out to touch her shoulder, Echo gave it a gentle squeeze and smiled softly at her. “I have not been as lucky as you, to find someone to be mine. Even though Lincoln is gone now, you will never regret the time you had together.”  
  
“You’ve never been in love?” Octavia asked her curiously.  
  
Echo shrugged a little. “Once, a long time ago, but it did not work out. Sometimes these things don’t. And then, before I had another chance to find love, I was taken by the mountain.”  
  
“I’m so sorry,” Octavia said softly, shaking her head. “Bellamy told me what it was like in there… it must have been horrible.”  
  
“It was,” Echo agreed, her voice soft. “Absolutely horrible. And if your brother had not been there, I’m sure I would have died.”  
  
“Then why didn’t you wait for him?” Octavia asked, thinking back to what Lexa said, still bothered by the excuses she’d tried to give.  
  
“I wanted to,” Echo told her sincerely. “But the Mountain Men came with guns, and herded us out of the harvest chamber. Bellamy asked me to wait for his people and protect them, but they hadn’t even arrived yet.”  
  
Octavia let out a heavy breath. “Everything went wrong in there,” she said. “It was a bad plan.”  
  
“Plans are only that- plans. They are not certainty, and the more dangerous the enemy, the more likely they are to fail.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Octavia answered shortly, shaking her head. “It’s all done now.”  
  
There was a short silence, and then Echo said, “You and your brother are the most stubborn people I have ever known. Is that because of your mother?”  
  
Octavia considered the question, and then said, “Yes.” The next silence that passed between them was long, and Octavia could sense that Echo was worried about something. “What is it?” she asked finally.  
  
“Taking Lexa will mean war,” Echo answered, quietly. “I do not know how I feel about being part of that.”  
  
Shifting uncomfortably, Octavia shrugged a little. “We didn’t know.”  
  
“When I was your age, the first war broke out,” Echo said softly. “It was long and bloody. It claimed my father, as well as one of my brothers and one of my sisters. When the _Kongeda_ was formed and the Ice Nation was made a member, I was glad of it because it ended the war once and for all. Now I fear that it will all start over again.”  
  
“Is that what you think the queen wants?” Octavia asked nervously. If there was going to be a war, she didn’t like the fact that they were on the frontlines.  
  
“I do not know,” she answered uncertainly. “But pulling out of the coalition, capturing Lexa… I cannot see what else she might intend.”  
  
“Do you know her?”  
  
“No,” Echo answered, seeming amused by the question. “I have never had an audience with the queen.”  
  
“But you know a lot about her,” Octavia pointed out. “You’re scared of her.”  
  
“Everyone in the Ice Nation is scared of her,” Echo answered softly. “It’s what makes her such a formidable leader. But it is no secret in these lands that she was bitter at being forced into the coalition. Her intention was to overthrow Lexa, but Lexa managed to get the other clans on her side, and Elody knew that there was no winning against eleven armies. So she joined. But now I wonder whether she has just been biding her time.”  
  
“So what is she hoping?” Octavia wondered aloud, frowning. “She wants to control Lexa, and then control the _Kongeda?”_  
  
Echo hesitated. “That… or she may get rid of Lexa altogether.”  
  
“That’s what Lexa said would happen,” Octavia agreed, swallowing a little. “She seemed pretty sure that she was going to die.”  
  
“If the queen does kill the commander, she would do so because she would hope to control the entire coalition. She will want to cause havoc and chaos, and split loyalties. The clans will have to choose sides quickly.”  
  
“And then what?” Octavia asked, meeting Echo’s eyes. Something about the frightened look in the older woman’s gaze made her feel afraid too.  
  
“And then we will have to run.” 


	44. 44- Clarke

Clarke called for Yana and asked for food and drink. Yana obeyed, bringing in trays heaped with delicious things, and she placed them down, her eyes flickering to Bellamy, who was standing by the window again.  
  
“Did _he_ make you cry?” she asked softly, her brown eyes full of worry.  
  
“No,” Clarke assured her, knowing her face was mottled, her eyes red from weeping. “No, he’s safe.” She didn’t know how much she meant those words until they left her lips, and she felt a pang- to have Bellamy here, beside her, it felt like things could actually get better. She hugged Yana and said, “We need some time alone though. Can you stay somewhere else tonight?”  
  
“Of course,” Yana said, hugging her back and then tossing one more curious look in Bellamy’s direction before leaving them alone.  
  
“Eat,” Clarke offered him, picking off some fruit and taking a bite. She wasn’t hungry, but her stomach was churning and she hoped this would help. Bellamy stayed by the window, not speaking, not looking at her, for a long time, before he finally pushed off the wall and came back. Yana had placed the tray of food next to Clarke’s bed, but Bellamy took a seat across from her, on Yana’s bed. He didn’t touch the food.  
  
“What is this, Clarke?” he asked her. “I thought you were a prisoner.”  
  
“It’s… complicated,” she said slowly. “Elody wants an alliance with us. After everything that’s happened, I was thinking that might be a good thing.”  
  
Bellamy pulled in a breath and let it out slowly. She watched him squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. “Please don’t tell me that all this time, you’ve been up here, doing just fine, not in any danger.” He opened his eyes and looked at her, and he did sincerely seem to want her to say that. “Lincoln _died_ so we could find you, Clarke.”  
  
Horror slammed into her with such force she was afraid she might vomit. _“What?”_ she breathed. “How? When?”  
  
“A few days ago,” Bellamy answered. “When we were in another goddamn mountain… they had Octavia, and we were trying to get her out. He was murdered by a little girl… an assassin, sent by the queen.”  
  
Clarke pushed the tray of food away and she looked at him seriously. “You have to tell me everything.”  
  
“And you have to tell _me_ everything,” he said urgently. His eyes looked as desperate as the day she’d left him at the gates of Camp Jaha. “Have you been here all this time?”  
  
“No,” she answered. “I was alone for a while, in the forest… I’m not sure for how long. I just kept walking.” She brought her hand up and rubbed her temples, hardly knowing where to start.  
  
Bellamy reached out and grabbed her hand, startling her. He held it close to his face and gently separated her fingers. The roughness of his palm where he cradled her hand made her shiver, but she pulled it back from him.  
  
“What are those?” he asked her. He reached for her again, but she sat on both her hands, shaking her head. “Clarke, what _are_ those? Did they use those darts on you?” He looked furious.  
  
In spite of herself, her surprise took over and she asked, “How do you know about those?”  
  
“I’ve seen them in action… used on Octavia, and then on Lexa.”  
  
Clarke held her breath. “You saw Lexa?”  
  
He gritted his teeth. “Yeah,” he said. “We brought her here.”  
  
“Why?” she demanded, utterly dismayed. “Bellamy, why would you do that?”  
  
“Because it’s what I _had_ to do,” he said urgently. “To keep Octavia safe. To keep _you_ safe. Besides, I didn’t know it was her until it was too late.”  
  
“This was all planned,” she groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “How did she _know?”  
  
_ “What are you talking about?” Bellamy asked her, and there was an edge of alarm in his voice. She felt his hand close over the back of her neck but she just shook her head. “Clarke, please talk to me,” he urged her.  
  
She looked up and he had stood up from Yana’s bed and moved over. He was standing close to her, his eyes full of worry and something else- fear? Desperation? Clarke reached out and wrapped her arms around him, laying her cheek against his stomach. If Bellamy was surprised, he didn’t show it. His fingers slipped into her hair, stroking gently.  
  
“Clarke,” he said again. “Will you please just-”  
  
“I killed her,” she said suddenly, louder than she meant to, interrupting him. She felt his hand freeze on her head.  
  
“What? Who?”  
  
She turned her face up and looked at him. Softly she said, “You know who.”  
  
Bellamy stared at her for a moment, and she tried very hard to read him. There was such complexity to his expression, but she could see that one of his primary emotions was shock.  
  
The moment Clarke felt tears welling up in her eyes, they were already falling. She saw Lexa’s body again, felt her own hand plunging downward, felt the knife burying itself in Lexa’s chest. “Oh my God,” she choked out, hardly believing it had really happened, that any of this could be real. Her arms tightened around him as though she could use him as an anchor to fend off the truth.  
  
Clarke felt Bellamy’s hands cradling her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. She looked up at him, locked eyes with him, and as she watched him searching her gaze, she wondered if he actually believed her. “When?” he asked finally.  
  
“Just now,” she whispered. “Right before you came here. It’s why I was crying.” She shook her head, letting out a choking sob. “Why couldn’t you have come before?” As if it would have made a difference.  
  
Now he believed her. He seemed to be struggling with what to say next, but he didn’t let go of her face, and she was glad of it. She kept his eyes, trying to find strength in his gaze, trying to make sense of everything that was happening.  
  
Bellamy finally let go of her, but only so he could reach down and pick up her hand, looking at it again. She watched as he carefully spread her fingers, examined the holes that lined each tender curve of flesh. “They’ve been torturing you.” It wasn’t a question. “They made you do this.”  
  
She took her hand back, and as much as she didn’t want to, she pulled away from him and stood up, crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t understand.”  
  
“Then _help_ me,” he said. “Just tell me what the hell is going on. Tell it to me so it makes sense, Clarke.”  
  
Tears welled up in her eyes again and she shook her head. “I don’t know how.” She paced the room for a moment, feeling his eyes tracking her movements, feeling his concern. No longer speaking to him she muttered, “She deserved punishment… she had to answer for her crimes… I was the victim, _I_ had to be the one to do it… that’s how we do things, that’s how justice _works._ I-”  
  
“Clarke!” Bellamy interrupted sharply. She blinked rapidly, looked at him, saw the worry written all over his face. She watched as he looked to the dart marks again, saw him shake his head. “Okay,” he said finally, and she recognised the change in his voice- this was decisive Bellamy, calculating Bellamy- he was making a plan. She was surprised just how comforting that tone was. “Okay, we need to get you out of here,” he said. “Right now, we need to get you, and we need to get Octavia, and just we need to get home. We can figure everything else out later.”  
  
He grabbed her arm and pulled, but she resisted, standing still. She watched him stop, watched him turn back to face her. The dismayed expression on his face broke her heart, but she still didn’t move.  
  
“Please, Clarke,” he said, his voice gruff, and she recognised the desperate quality to it, the distress. “This is why I came here,” he tried. “Just… please. Let me take you home.”  
  
“No, I can’t just leave,” she insisted, shaking her head. “All this can’t be for nothing.”  
  
“No, all _this_ can’t be for nothing!” he exclaimed, letting go of her hand to rake his own over his face. He pointed his finger at her. “Do you know how _hard_ it was to get to you? How _long_ it took? What we _lost?_ What  _Octavia_ lost? And you just want to _stay_ here?”  
  
“No,” she assured him, closing her eyes, shaking her head. “No, I don’t want to stay here… but I want this alliance to happen, otherwise all of that-” she held up her hand “-and this _will_ be for nothing.”  
  
Bellamy clawed his fingers through his hair, agitated, shaking his head. “Then what do you want me to _do?”_ he demanded. “I’m just trying to keep you alive, but Octavia and I, we can’t just wait around here- it’s not safe. There’s a reason she had you kill Lexa, Clarke, and I can’t just stay here and wait it out on your word. Not with those marks on your hands, and _not_ with how you’re acting.”  
  
“How _I’m_ acting?” she demanded, offended and angry that he refused to even consider her side. Maybe more offended that he was right. “You don’t even know what’s going on here, Bellamy, and you’re so quick to judge. They have _medicine-_ real medicine. An alliance with them could save hundreds of lives.”  
  
He seemed to hesitate, but still he shook his head. “It’s not right, Clarke. Allies don’t torture you until you agree to join them. You’ve got some kind of… I don’t know… Stockholm’s Syndrome or something.”  
  
Now she was even more offended, but she knew she couldn’t fault him for what he thought. “I’ve been working hard up here, trying to make this alliance,” she said carefully. “I can’t just throw it all away now.”  
  
It seemed like that was the wrong thing to say. Bellamy’s jaw clenched and he snapped, “No, Clarke, you’ve been _hiding_ up here. You walked away from us and now I’ve come all the way up here to save you and you won’t even come _with_ me?”  
  
They both seemed to realise, in unison, how absurd those words were. Bellamy spoke first. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “You don’t need saving.” He shook his head. “I just… _I_ need you home. You were gone too long, Clarke. Way too long.”  
  
“Bellamy,” she said softly, curling her hand along his arm and squeezing. “I _am_ coming home. But I want it to be for the right reasons… not because I’m scared or running away. Not again.”  
  
He met her eyes and after a long moment he nodded, stepping closer to her. He took her upper arms in his hands and rubbed his thumbs against her skin as he said softly, “How could you kill her? If it’s not the torture, if you did it of your own free will… how? She said she loved you.”  
  
“Lexa told you that?” she asked, surprised. Her face flamed, not with embarrassment, but with discomfort- it felt wrong, that if anyone should have told him that, it should have been her. “That was before… everything.” She glanced away from him, her heart quickening, because the truth was she couldn’t believe she’d done it either.  
  
Before either of them could say anything else, the door opened and Elody stood there, flanked by two guards. Clarke was surprised that the queen would make a personal appearance in her chamber, and she didn’t like it- having her and Bellamy in the same room was like having separate worlds collide.  
  
“Clarke,” Elody said, smiling at her, sweeping her eyes over both of them and obviously noting the closeness of their bodies. “I see you and Bellamy have been reunited. Does that make you happy?”  
  
“Very,” Clarke said, but her voice was hollow. The queen didn’t seem to notice as she looked at Bellamy curiously. Clarke felt him let go of her arms, and then his hand close around hers.  
  
“We’re leaving,” he said.  
  
“Bellamy,” Clarke warned, trying to pull her hand away from him, but he only tightened his grip.  
  
Elody was frowning at them both. “What is this?”  
  
“Nothing,” Clarke said quickly. “Nothing, he’s just… we’re just…” She trailed off, not sure exactly how to explain.  
  
The queen’s black eyes were fixed on Bellamy, and for a long moment no one spoke. Reverting her attention to Clarke she said, “Lexa’s body will soon be prepared for transport.”  
  
“Transport?” Clarke asked hesitantly.  
  
“Yes,” Elody said with a nod. “Her head will be removed and set on a pike, and it will be taken to all eleven clan leaders, so they can see that their commander is truly dead- so there can be _no_ doubt. Her body will be taken far to the north and buried deep in the ice.”  
  
Clarke stared at the queen in absolute horror, and a quick exchanged glance told her Bellamy felt exactly the same. This time when she pulled her hand away from him, he let her go.  
  
“You can’t do that,” she said to Elody. “You and Lexa my have been enemies, but that’s over now- she’s dead. She deserves a proper funeral.”  
  
“What she _deserves_ does not matter,” the queen answered icily. “If she is given back to her people, they will set her on a pyre and release her to the winds. I cannot allow that to happen. If her body lays in the ice, her spirit will remain trapped, and she will not be able to meddle in my affairs.”  
  
Clarke didn’t believe any of that, but she knew that it was wrong for Elody to treat her body with such disrespect. Carefully she said, “She’s dead now… there’s no reason to desecrate her body. Her culture, and the beliefs of her people, should be respected.”  
  
“Her _people_ need to understand that _I_ am in control now,” Elody answered coldly. “What they _believe_ does not concern me. _You_ should be grateful to me. When I install you as Heda of the Coalition, you will have more power than you ever imagined.”  
  
Clarke drew in a sharp breath and she felt Bellamy tense beside her. She shook her head. “I don’t want power,” she said quietly. “Especially not like this.”  
  
Elody rolled her eyes. “Everyone wants _power,_ Clarke. Even if it is to do good- think of the difference you can make in Lexa’s place. You will be a better commander than she _ever_ was.”  
  
“Clarke,” Bellamy called urgently, squeezing her hand. Again he said, “We’re leaving.”  
  
_“You_ may go wherever you wish,” Elody bit out. “But Clarke is staying with me. The clans will follow the _Wanheda,_ especially now that Lexa is dead. You and your people have been invited to settle on my land… you will no longer be Sky People, but part of the Ice Nation.”  
  
“What?” Bellamy sputtered. His eyes slid to Clarke, and she knew she must have looked terrible- pale and red all at once, frightened and horrified at how this conversation was going.  
  
She said to Elody, “I haven’t decided any of that yet. I haven’t even _talked_ to him about it. Please… let me handle this.”  
  
“Are you going to fight me regarding the use of Lexa’s body?” Elody asked, ignoring her plea. “Are you going to fight me when I install you as my right hand as Heda of the coalition?”  
  
But Clarke knew she wasn’t going to be Elody’s right hand- she was going to be her puppet. Like she was now. Like she had been when she’d stabbed Lexa.  
  
It was bad enough she’d killed Lexa, but now she was expected to stand by and watch her head be used as some kind of sick banner, while her body would be laid to rest thousands of kilometers away from her homeland, cold and alone? And then she, Clarke, was supposed to take her place, sit on her throne and force herself on all those people, like a dictator? Like a tyrant? No. It was too much. If _this_ was the queen’s plan, she wanted no part of it.  
  
Angrily she bit out, “Yes, I’ll fight you. What you’re planning is wrong.”  
  
Elody’s dark eyes turned to ice and her whole face changed. With clear rage she turned and gave a firm nod to her guards. They stepped out from behind her, and Clarke felt Bellamy’s alarm palpable in the air beside her.  
  
Before she could do anything she felt him grab her and pulled her behind him, spreading his arms out and backing up against her until, together, they hit the wall. Clarke seized the back of his jacket in her hands- trying to move him, calm him down, something- but Elody only seemed amused as the guards continued their advance on her.  
  
Only it wasn’t Clarke they were after at all. Instead, they grabbed Bellamy’s arms and pulled him away from her. She tried to keep hold of him, but the big men were much stronger as they wrestled Bellamy to the ground. He fought, trying to get them off, trying to grab for any leverage he could, but it was useless.  
  
“Please!” Clarke yelled to the queen. “Don’t do this.”  
  
“This was _your_ choice, Clarke,” Elody growled. “I thought I had your loyalty, I offered you reward after reward, but now you spit in my face. Do you think I would let that go unpunished?”  
  
Clarke opened her mouth to protest further, but she didn’t know how. She looked into Bellamy’s desperate eyes and felt herself freeze, felt her heart go cold with fear. Looking back to Elody, she tried to find the woman who she’d come to feel- finally, _finally-_ was on her side, who wanted this alliance. But had that ever been real? She tried to think of something to say that would fix this, reverse it, but nothing was coming to her.  
  
Before she could say even one word, she heard Bellamy let out a grunt and her attention was quickly drawn back to him. One of the guards was just standing up, and Clarke watched in horror as Bellamy’s eyes rolled back in his head and he started to tremble, then convulse.  
  
No one stopped Clarke as she rushed to his side, grabbing at his face, trying to get him to look at her, but he was caught in what looked like a seizure, totally unresponsive. All she could think was poison, something worse than the darts- something fatal.  
  
“What did you _do?!”_ she screamed at Elody.  
  
“You will play your part in my plans, Clarke,” the queen said, her voice edged with venom. “One way or another.”  
  
Clarke ignored her, cradling Bellamy’s face in her hands shifting him into her lap and stroking his hair, trying to get him to open his eyes. She saw blood oozing from a puncture wound in his neck, and then she looked up at the guard, at his hand. He was holding an injector, the long needle coated in Bellamy’s blood. Inside the chamber, the glass ampoule was almost empty. But there was just enough sunlight filtering through the window for it to catch the last few drops of liquid left in the vial, just enough for Clarke to see its colour- a vivid, brilliant red.


	45. 45- Octavia

“Something’s wrong,” Octavia said, standing over Echo’s bed. It was the third night since Bellamy had gone for Clarke, and her third night of barely sleeping. She had come into Echo’s room and stared at her for the better part of an hour before deciding to speak.  
  
Echo’s eyes opened, but if she was surprised, she didn’t show it. “Why do you say that?”  
  
“Because he should be back by now,” Octavia answered. “He wouldn’t be gone for this long unless something wasn’t right. He’d go get Clarke, he’d come back for me, and we’d all be gone by now.” She knew it was true, knew exactly what Bellamy would do- and this wasn’t it. “He should have been gone for a couple of hours, not a couple of days.” Her demands to the guards who brought their food and water had been ignored.  
  
Echo seemed to resign herself to the fact that she was not going to sleep anymore. She sat up and patted the bed next to her; reluctantly, Octavia walked over and took the place next to her. She expected Echo to say something comforting, but instead she just said, “Your brother is the most reckless, impulsive, obstinate, and foolish person I have ever known.” After a long pause she added, “But he is also honourable, devoted, and noble. He will not leave you here to die.”  
  
“But what if he can’t _get_ to us?” Octavia asked. “What if he and Clarke are in trouble? Or what if Clarke isn’t even _here,_ and this is all a trap, like Lexa said?”  
  
Letting out a long breath, Echo asked, “Are all Sky People so insistent on worrying about things that are outside their control?”  
  
“I used to be better at it,” Octavia allowed. “Indra taught me that a warrior should never worry about what she can’t control.”  
  
“Then Indra is a wise woman,” Echo said with a nod. “You should heed her words.”  
  
“I’ve been trying, but it’s been too long, and too much has happened.” Octavia stood up, paced to the window. “I’m telling you, something’s _wrong.”_  
  
Before Echo could protest further, they heard the latch on the front door slide open, and both women sprung to their feet, hurrying out of Echo’s bedroom and into the main living area of their suite.  
  
Four guards stood there, two for each of them, and one said, “The queen will see you now.”  
  
“We don’t want to see the queen,” Octavia snapped. “Where’s my brother?”  
  
_“Hush,”_ Echo urged her, and she looked scared. Nodding to the guards she said, “Take us to her.”  
  
They were led outside, and Octavia breathed in the fresh air gratefully until they were taken into another building. She had become so used to living in tents that being inside walls was strange- even at Camp Jaha, she had mostly avoided the wreckage of the Ark unless she needed to be inside it for some reason.  
  
The guards led the two women through several corridors before reaching a small room. Octavia felt Echo’s fear erupt beside her immediately as they looked at the imposing woman in a beautiful gown, standing there with a cold expression on her face. Next to her was Lia, and when Octavia met her eyes she hoped the little girl saw the extent of the hatred she felt for her.  
  
Echo dropped to her knees and said, “Queen Elody… it is an honour.” Hastily, Octavia bowed her head, but she wouldn’t kneel.  
  
She’d been so distracted by the image of the daunting and striking queen that she didn’t even notice another woman, smaller and younger, standing just behind her. Her back was to Octavia, her attention focused on a window there, but Octavia couldn’t be sure why, since the curtains were drawn. The girl’s blonde hair was done up in elaborate braids, but something about her was very familiar. The more Octavia looked at her, the more she was sure she knew her.  
  
“Clarke?” she asked, finally. Next to her, Echo stood, and when she heard her say that name she looked at the young woman with more curiosity.  
  
The queen smiled and put an arm around the blonde’s shoulders, turning her around to face them. It was definitely Clarke, though she looked like a different person- hair, clothes, even her posture was different. Her face was thin an drawn, her eyes red and ringed in dark circles. She looked like hell.  
  
“What _is_ this?” Octavia asked, staring at Clarke, then to the queen, then back to Clarke. “Are you… _with_ her?”  
  
Clarke just shook her head, and she looked like she was barely even present, let alone talkative. She said nothing.  
  
Octavia felt the anger clenching around her heart and she gritted her teeth, advancing on Clarke. “Tell me that isn’t true,” she said, and she knew she sounded angry and desperate all at once. “Tell me you haven’t been safe this whole time… tell me we didn’t come here for _nothing,_ Clarke.”  
  
Clarke met her eyes and her blue gaze was full of sorrow- but Octavia felt no sympathy for her. “Octavia…” she trailed off.  
  
Her eyes filled with tears that spilled over as she stared at Clarke with horror, her stomach tying itself in knots of rage. “Clarke, Lincoln is _dead!_ He died so we could find you… don’t tell me that was for nothing. Please, Clarke. _Please.”_  
  
Tears slipped down Clarke’s cheeks too as she squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “I’m sorry. I-”  
  
“Where’s Bellamy?” Octavia cut her off, gritting her teeth, not wanting to hear any false apologies that were too little and far too late.  
  
Again, Clarke hesitated, glancing at the queen. “Octavia…”  
  
The fear grew in Octavia’s chest and she turned her attention to Elody, demanding, “Where’s my brother? I want to see him- right now.”  
  
The queen smiled just a little, but it wasn’t a kind smile. “Very well,” she said. “You may see him- right now.” Next to her, Lia seemed impassive, expressionless, just watching Octavia with an eerie look of fascination.  
  
Elody gestured to the window that Clarke had been standing near before, and Octavia started that way. Her movement seemed to bring something to life within Clarke and she cried out, “No!” She grabbed Octavia, stopping her.  
  
“What the hell is going on?” Octavia demanded, wrenching her arm away from Clarke. Glaring at her she snarled, “What’s _wrong_ with you?”  
  
“Octavia, please,” Clarke said, and this time her hands came up to grip the younger girl’s shoulders. Something about the urgency in her eyes made her listen, but it also made Octavia more afraid for her brother. Was he dead?  
  
“Clarke, what’s going on?” Octavia asked urgently. “Where _is_ he?”  
  
“See for yourself,” the queen spoke up. “He is behind that curtain.” She gestured again to the window. “Clarke will not interfere with you again.”  
  
Octavia and Echo exchanged an uncertain glance and then, together, they stepped forward. Sure enough, Clarke didn’t stop them, though it was obvious that she wanted to.  
  
At the last second Clarke moved, putting herself between the two of them and the curtain. She looked panicked, raw and frightened, but that only served to make Octavia more scared. “Please,” Clarke said. “Octavia, don’t. Please don’t.”  
  
“Stop it,” Octavia snapped, shoving her aside with her shoulder. “Just _stop!”_ She charged past her, grabbing the curtain in her hand to pull it back. She imagined Bellamy gravely injured, bruised and bloody maybe hooked up to tubes, half-dead, perhaps comatose and unresponsive.  
  
“Octavia, Bellamy’s a Reaper!” Clarke yelled at her.  
  
Just like when Lincoln died, Octavia felt her heart sink into her stomach, felt her whole world collapse. Her knees went weak and she grabbed for the wall, leaning heavily on it for support, as she turned back to Clarke and looked at her in horror. If it was a joke, Clarke wasn’t laughing.  
  
Octavia looked to Echo, who appeared as horrified as she felt, and then back to Clarke, whose face was tortured; her eyes were full of remorse, heartache and desperation all at once. Octavia looked to the queen and saw smugness, then to the shadow child and saw that same fascination she’d seen before. Octavia waited for someone to tell her it was a cruel trick, some kind of horrific misunderstanding, but no one said another word.  
  
“That can’t be true,” she said finally, dragging her eyes back to meet Clarke’s.  
  
“I know,” she whispered back, her voice breaking. “But it is.”  
  
“If you do not believe, then look for yourself,” Elody suggested.  
  
With a shaking hand, Octavia reached out and wrenched the curtain back with one swift flick of her wrist. It revealed a glass window, but instead of facing the outside, it allowed her to see into another room, small and dark.  
  
She was so relieved when she didn’t see Bellamy, but then, just as fast, she felt anger rise up in her chest. “What’s going on?” she snapped.  
  
Clarke shook her head and pointed. “There,” she whispered. “In the corner.”  
  
Again Octavia looked, and this time she saw a flash of movement near the back of the room, where Clarke had indicated. She flattened her hands against the window, looking, and then she drew in a sharp breath of disbelief as she saw a face that was her brother’s but not her brother’s, familiar and strange all at once.  
  
Crouched in the corner, clothes, face, and hands covered in blood, Bellamy sat there, knees drawn up, his whole body shuddering. He was staring at the floor, his eyes unfocused, bloodshot, face pale and off-colour. He looked terrifying, wild.  
  
“How do I get in there?” Octavia demanded, whirling on the queen with clenched fists.  
  
Echo was still staring into the window, gaping, and her eyes were fixed on Bellamy with such horror that she seemed rooted to the spot by it.  
  
But Octavia had seen this all before. She ran to Clarke, grabbing her by the shoulders, shoving her backward in to the wall. “Help him!” she screamed. “Help him like you helped Lincoln. Do it _now!”_  
  
“Don’t you think I _want_ to?” Clarke exclaimed. Her eyes were full of desperation and grief, but Octavia didn’t care- Clarke’s heartache was like a drop in an ocean next to her own. She watched Clarke’s eyes flicker to Elody, and then Octavia understood.  
  
_“You,”_ she growled, including Lia in her death glare. “And _you._ You’re the ones doing this. He’s going to _die_ in there like that!”  
  
“Do you think we care?” the queen asked, her voice cold.  
  
Octavia whirled back to the room and looked for the entrance, calculating how to get in there from where she was now. She started for the exit, but again Clarke tried to hold her back.  
  
“Clarke, just _stop!”_ Octavia yelled, shoving her backward again.  
  
“You can’t go in there,” Clarke said urgently. “He’ll kill you.”  
  
For a moment Octavia just stared at her, then she scoffed, “He would _never_ hurt me.” But even still, a tiny knot of doubt rose in her stomach as she remembered how Lincoln had attacked her and Bellamy as though he didn’t even know them.  
  
“He will,” Clarke whispered, and something about her tone drew Octavia’s eyes back. She followed Clarke’s gaze, down to her own arm, which she was rubbing gently between her thumb and fingers.  
  
Octavia grabbed her sleeve and ripped it off, startling Clarke. But before she could pull away, Octavia saw that her arm was bloody and bandaged. She felt possessed as she ripped those off as well, just needing to see, but nobody stopped her.  
  
Clarke’s arm was a mess of blood and ragged, small bits of flesh torn from the skin. Belatedly Octavia recognised the strange, semi-circle wounds as human bite marks, and she remembered how Lincoln had tried to bite her hands when she’d brought him water, before Clarke brought him back.  
  
With horror, she met Clarke’s eyes. “Bellamy _did_ this?”  
  
Echo put a hand to her mouth, not saying anything, shaking her head in disbelief.  
  
Before Clarke could even answer her question, Octavia whirled back to the window and put her hands on the glass, staring at her brother. She wanted to tap on the glass, get his attention, but she was afraid of what he might do.  
  
“He can’t see you,” Elody spoke up. “That window only goes one way.” Her voice sounded casual, cruel. “I hope you understand now that this is serious. But as long as Clarke does what I wish, your brother will continue to be given the Red that he needs to survive.”  
  
Clenching her jaw, her fists, she stared at Clarke, just shaking her head. “Some leader you are,” she snapped, her voice cracking at the end. Softer she said, “We have to _do_ something- _fight._ ” When Clarke just shook her head, her anger boiled over again and she yelled, “He’d fight for _you!”_  
  
Clarke closed her eyes briefly. “I’m doing the best I can,” she whispered.  
  
“And I’ve heard that before,” Octavia answered bitterly. Whirling on Elody she said, “Let my brother go- right _now._ I’m serious.”  
  
The queen glared at Octavia. “Show her that we, too, are serious,” she said coldly, addressing her guards. She nodded her head toward Echo. The men advanced on her, and Echo tried to run, but it was pointless in that little room with so many people against them. The men wrestled her from the room.  
  
“Stop!” Octavia yelled at Elody. “No, take me, not her!”  
  
“And what would be the point of that?” the queen answered evenly. “I may need you. I do not need her.”  
  
Through the window, the door to Bellamy’s room opened and Echo was thrown inside. Clarke turned away, refusing to look through the glass, but Octavia went to the window and pressed her hands against it, her heart pounding in her chest.  
  
At first Echo just panicked, trying to open the door, trying to break it down, but it was sealed shut. Octavia watched as she flattened herself against the wall, and then Bellamy rose to his feet. He was still half in shadows but Octavia could see how laboured his breathing was, how tense his body was, how out of it he seemed. She couldn’t tear her eyes away.  
  
Echo was crying, speaking, but Octavia couldn’t hear she was saying through the glass. She had her hands up as Bellamy just stood there, not doing anything.  
  
Then it happened so quickly, he moved so fast it was uncanny, closing the distance between him and Echo in the time it took Octavia to gasp in surprise. He grabbed her, threw her into the opposite wall, and she hit hard enough to leave a dent as she sank to the floor, curling into a fetal position. But her arms and legs did nothing to protect her, He was on top of her in a second, his hands around her neck, yelling so loud that Octavia could hear it through the wall, and it did not sound like her brother’s voice- not really. It was a haunting sound, painful and disgusting all at once.  
  
All Octavia could do was stand there as Echo was murdered at her brother’s hands- the hands of a man she’d worked so hard to keep alive, spent day after day nursing back to health, of a man she’d risked everything to lead here.  
  
Only when Bellamy sank his teeth deep into Echo’s neck, ripping her throat out, his face covered in blood as he started to chew, did Octavia pulled her eyes away from the window. She sank to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and dropping her face into her hands.  
  
“Would you still like to see your brother?” Elody asked her, almost conversationally.  
  
“Stop it,” Clarke snapped, dropping to her knees beside Octavia. “We’re going to figure this out.” She raised her hands as if she was going to touch her, but then seemed to think better of it. They just hung there, useless.  
  
Octavia raised her face to look at Clarke, and she knew her eyes were full of rage as the tears slid silently down her cheeks. _“You_ did this to him,” she snarled. “And now you’re going to fix it.”


	46. 46- Bellamy

Standing tall beside Clarke, hand clasped around hers, Bellamy listened to the Queen of the Ice Nation growl on and on about control, power, about the Sky People being relocated to her lands, about installing Clarke in Lexa’s place, and he knew then- any semblance of alliance that Clarke had built here was just a means to an end for the queen. Even Clarke seemed to be realising that as she said, “Yes, I’ll fight you. What you’re planning is wrong.”  
  
When she said that, he squeezed her hand. He had been afraid when he’d seen her, that defeated look in her exhausted eyes, her weak but insistent pleas that he trust her, stay here, that the queen was on their side. Now he could see that she was realising the truth: they had no allies here. The queen had tortured her, she had manipulated her, and now she was going to use her.  
  
But Clarke, strong as ever, rose above all that and defiantly refused. He could have kissed her. Now they would get to go home. Now they would be safe again.  
  
He watched as the queen became enraged, watched as the guards advanced on them. All he could think about was Clarke, that this couldn’t be for nothing, that she had been tortured and abused for weeks and he hadn’t been here to do anything about it. But now he _was_ here, and he’d be damned before he’d let anyone touch her again.  
  
Shoving Clarke behind him, he spread his arms out and cocooned her to his back, wishing sorely for his gun as the guards advanced. His hands- his only weapons- tightened into fists and he knew he couldn't let anyone take her from him now. There was a line, and these people were way over it.  
  
The guards reached him and he threw his fist out, catching one in the jaw. His hand closed around the man’s neck and squeezed while his other arm stayed between them and Clarke, as if that flimsy barrier could somehow keep her safe. But his arms and legs, his hands and feet, were all he had, and he fought and fought, punching and grabbing, shoving and kicking.  
  
He fought hard, but it was over fast. There were four of them and one of him, they were warriors raised to fight from childhood, and he’d had a couple years of guard training on the Ark. It wasn’t a fair fight, not by a long shot, and soon he was being picked up and hauled away from Clarke, forced to the ground on his stomach, held in place by feet and hands. His teeth chewed concrete as they bashed his face into the ground, trying to force the fight out of him.  
  
“Please!” he heard Clarke yell. “Don’t do this.”  
  
“This was _your_ choice, Clarke,” he heard the queen respond. “I thought I had your loyalty, I offered you reward after reward, but now you spit in my face. Do you think I would let that go unpunished?”  
  
Bellamy continued to struggle, trying to get up, but one of the men wrenched his head up by his hair and punched him hard across the face so he saw stars. He met Clarke’s eyes, trying to convey to her, _run, go now, get out of here, just run and don’t stop- don’t look back._ But even as he tried to relay that message, he knew she wouldn’t go.  
  
There was a long moment where no one moved, no one spoke, and he and Clarke just kept each other’s eyes. He wasn’t consciously trying to convey anything to her now, maybe he believed they were both going to die and he just wanted to give her strength. He felt his heart pounding in his chest- he didn’t want to watch her die. The thought was horrific, made him sick. He struggled again, but again he was subdued.  
  
He watched Clarke look back to the queen and he saw in her face that she was formulating a plan, maybe one last-ditch effort to save them both.  
  
Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted in his neck as something foreign and cold was embedded in his flesh, and he knew he was being injected with something. He tensed, making the pain worse, but the guards were holding his head like a vice, and all he could do was grunt through gritted teeth as he felt a cool liquid invading his veins.  
  
Suddenly the coolness disappeared and was replaced with a burning, searing pain that started from the puncture mark and spread out over his whole body until he felt like the entirety of his skin was on fire.  
  
Then everything went dark.  
  
  
  
Eyes opened, then squeezed half-shut against bright lights, heart pounding, skin beaded in moisture, a fever pulsing beneath his flesh. A sudden boiling in his throat, head turned sideways, retching and vomiting up an acid rush of blood, aftertaste of iron, nearly choking.  
  
Hair thickened into chunks, dripping, plastered with sweat onto mottled skin, vision blurry, delusions swimming before his eyes, haunted tableaus pushing him towards insanity, disembodied arms grabbing and pulling him under.  
  
Then, long periods of nothing, time stretched to forever, room quiet and dark, the faraway murmurs of voices. Taking comfort in cold tile pressed against cheek, feeling hot breath, quick gasps against the floor, curled up, knees weak and turned into his stomach, back trembling, an unquenchable thirst, a hunger from the depths of his body, despair like a relentless pressure, closing in.  
  
Shaking, shuddering, painful spasms of muscles, limbs alternating between tightening and trembling, rigid and release. Pain like sparks of fire along his body, unnerving crawling sensations of insects against his skin, then turning inward, burrowing down, scrabbling into his flesh and digging deeper. Panicked, urgent breaths, gasps of pain and dread, fingernails scratching into his skin, clawing deep, rivulets of blood creeping down to pool on the cold tile, sticky against his skin, heart pounding, head aching.  
  
Someone beside him, kneeling, whispering in his ear, unintelligible behind the boiling blood liked a waterfall through his brain. Needle pushed into his neck, sharpness and pressure at the same time, coolness and fire, then incredible relief spreading outward through each cell of his body, pleasure better than any he’d ever felt. An ecstasy running through his veins, silencing all thoughts and fears, leaving him blissful and unaware, his curled up body heavy and lethargic, slow and dull, his worries far away and half-forgotten.  
  
Time stretching away from him, phases repeating- pain, pleasure, oblivion, pain, pleasure, oblivion- but otherwise no measure of passing hours, days, weeks, years, no concept. No way of knowing.  
  
Men coming in, holding chains, locking them heavy around his wrists. Clarke is brought to him and her face is a collection of horror- big eyes, mouth dropped open, cheeks bathed in tears. He heaves in huge breaths as he smells her fear growing, and he clenches his fists, eyes fixed to the floor, all his power focused on not moving- if he stands still, if he doesn’t go anywhere, he can’t hurt her. Even when promised what he craves most, he doesn’t move.  
  
Instead, they shove her closer, tell her she deserves this, that she has to obey if she wants to be safe. He hears bursts of conversation, not always able to focus on the words- someone is angry, someone has taken Lexa’s body, Clarke is inspiring unrest in Polis, and the queen won’t stand for it- this is her punishment, to be here with him, to see what they can do, the power they hold over all of them.  
  
Concentrating every ounce of strength and discipline on not hurting her, she makes it difficult when she raises a hand, then impossible as her fingertips alight on his skin that is already crawling, already oversensitive and raw. There is nothing like awareness, nothing like choice or control, as he whips his head to the side and sinks his teeth into her arm, wrenching back with her flesh, her screams only driving him to do it again and again.  
  
Beaten back with clubs and forced away from her, he crashes into the wall and grunts in pain, raising his arms. Clarke is dragged from the room and he is left alone in a pool of her blood, his body broken and trembling, his mind wild with disjointed thoughts- how badly did he hurt her? Was that really her arm, or was it her neck? Did he kill her? Would she ever forgive him?  
  
Red quiets all those thoughts, and the ecstasy that follows is filled with promises- causing pain is his swiftest road to the drug. As long as he obeys, he will be rewarded. Don’t think, just do. The drug is all that matters.  
  
Long hours of pain and suffering, his body shaking with need, crying out from the pain of cravings, the yearning so intense it makes him scream in agony, pound on the walls and yell for more, no longer thinking of anything but the drug. All other thoughts seem far away and inconsequential.  
  
A sudden presence, breath added to his own, quick gasps of fear, quickened heartbeat pounding from across the room, skipping like a rabbit. Warm body like a beacon, drawing him in, screams of fright like music, the promise of Red droned through a speaker, Red in exchange for silencing that heartbeat- bliss in exchange for death.  
  
Soft gasps of fear, the acrid smell of sweat erupting in the little room, feet scrambling, useless attempts at escape. His feet much faster, his movements much quicker, the distance closed between the two of them with pinpoint accuracy, even in the darkness.  
  
A face coming into view, an arrangement of features- here a mouth, there a shoulder, hair hanging in braids, beard thick, eyes wide in terror, hands up trying desperately to fend off, to defend. Nails raking into warm skin, screams growing louder now, terror turned to choking dread. Arms grabbing, nails digging, head bowed to bite cheeks, salty tears against his tongue, jaws working, teeth tearing at tender lumps of flesh.  
  
Hands holding, teeth moving downward, lips closing over that pulsing source of life- jugular torn free, ripped from the neck, blood thick and brackish, coating his face, congealing in the hollows of his throat. Limp body beneath him, eyes gone cold, mouth slack, he lets the unknown Grounder fall to the ground and rocks back on his heels, mumbling. No speech, no thoughts clear enough to make speech come properly now, no need of it.  
  
Men come in, and he knows that they bring his reward, that he should not attack them, even as he counts out the rhythms of their heartbeats, knows just where to strike. He remains on his knees, chest heaving, anticipation growing, waiting for his prize. Turning his head to the side, exposing his neck, feeling that sweet release with that deep stab of the needle, the Red rushes through him and he falls to the ground again, nothing but a lump, a heap of ecstatic stupor.  
  
Then more time, no meaning to any of it- pain, pleasure, oblivion- until the door opens again, and again someone is thrown into the room. He doesn’t move from where he sits against the wall, just listening- enjoying the sound of quickened heartbeat, of scrabbling feet, hands clawing for a way out, desperation growing thick in the air and then deflating into submission, resignation to the fact that there is no way out, no escape.  
  
It is when this desperation hits that he launches himself, like a predator towards its prey, honing in on that panic like bait, hearing tears starting, hearing the catch of breath and panicked, half-swallowed sob of, “Please!”  
  
Something familiar in the voice registers somewhere in the deepest part of him, but his body moves anyway, closing distance, knowing that through this vessel of human suffering lies his release- he needs only quiet it first, reach out with hands and teeth and shut off this life, and then he will be given what he needs.  
  
He sees Echo’s face before his and recognises her, knows it’s her, knows that he will kill her now- has no reaction to that fact. All he sees is the Red, nothing else matters. His feelings for this woman are buried deep inside a body that is straining for the drug, and her death seems like such a little thing to exchange for something so good.  
  
“Bellamy, please!” she yells, terrified, crying, shrinking away from him and making herself small, cowering in fear against the wall, in this room with no escape, where he bears down on her like a growling, salivating monster.  
  
He watches her collapse to the floor and coil her body, trying to curl into herself, as though she could find a way out by holding onto herself, see herself through this if only she doesn’t let go.  
  
The worst part is that he knows her, feels the affection he has for her, understands what she’s done for him, what she means to him, and doesn’t care.  
  
“Don’t do this!” she yells, sobbing, terrified. “Fight it!”  
  
He grabs her, watching as her face collapses, watching the knowledge sink in that this is it, there is no getting out. He feels her soft body crumple in his grip as he throws her against the wall, watching her sink low, eyes dazed, body broken.  
  
He yells at her, tries to tell her he is sorry even though he isn’t, but his mouth doesn’t cooperate, the words coming out in a garbled, yelling, meaningless mess. The frustration this causes only makes him want the Red more and in the next second he’s on her, his fingers digging into her neck, hands squeezing, watching as her eyes roll back in her head.  
  
Once she is unconscious he leans down and tears out her throat, his tongue bathed in her blood, staying there as the rhythmic pounding slows, slows, slows, and then stops. It’s done. He pulls back, licking her blood from his lips, swallowing it down like an appetiser before leaning back from her body.  
  
In the soft, muffled pause between this moment and the next, he looks at Echo’s body and feels a keening sense of loss, of grief and guilt that hurts so bad he feels wrecked by it. He wants to hold her, whisper apologies into her ears until she wakes up, to make her live again.  
  
Then the guards come in, Echo’s body is removed, he turns his head to the side, and everything changes, again, to blissful oblivion.


	47. 47- Clarke

The second she and Octavia were locked up together in her chambers, Clarke dropped to her knees and raked a hand through her hair. She let out little gasps, trying to swallow her sobs, her eyes tracing Octavia’s frantic pacing around the room until it made her dizzy and she had to look away.  
  
“Get up, Clarke,” Octavia growled. She reached down and grabbed her arm, trying to haul her to her feet, but Clarke was like a dead weight of despair, broken and unyielding. Octavia threw her arm down and she looked like she wanted to kick her, but she just snarled, “Get the hell _up!”_  
  
Clarke looked up at her and accepted the livid fury in her eyes, the fear and hopelessness, the panic- but it was the blame she saw there, the accusation and contempt, that she couldn’t bear. Somehow she found the strength to stand and she just looked at Octavia, watched her seethe, blue eyes like fire as she looked at her, as if waiting for something.  
  
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she finally whispered, and she hardly recognised her own voice.  
  
“I want you to say that you’ll _help_ me,” Octavia snapped. “Bellamy is counting on you, Clarke- _again._ ”  
  
She saw him again- all teeth and wild eyes, launching himself at her, skin burning up with the drug. “Don’t you think I want to help him!” she yelled, crying now, hot tears down her cheeks. “There’s nothing I can do!”  
  
“Oh yes there is,” Octavia snarled. “Bellamy dragged us through miles of wilderness to find you, almost died trying to get to you… I lost _Lincoln_ so we could find you. And now you're just going to leave him? _Again?”_  
  
Clarke squeezed her eyes shut and she shook her head. “I’m so sorry…”  
  
“I don’t want you to be _sorry,_ Clarke,” Octavia snapped, and her own eyes filled with tears, but she seemed too angry to let them fall. “My brother’s been turned into a Reaper and of all the people on Earth you are the _only_ person who can help him. And you’re going to do it- right now. I can’t lose him too.”  
  
“Well what do you want me to _do?”_ Clarke asked her desperately.  
  
“I want you to fight!” Octavia yelled at her. “We need to fight our way out of here, get Bellamy, and go- we just need to get him to a safe place, and then we can detox him and go home.”  
  
“Fight?” Clarke asked, shaking her head. “Have you _seen_ where we are? There are too many to fight, and you have no idea what they’ll do to us if we try.”  
  
Octavia’s lip curled. “They can’t do anything worse than taking Lincoln and Bellamy from me,” she ground out. “What’s _wrong_ with you, Clarke? Bellamy _needs_ you- how can you just do nothing?”  
  
“I’m scared, okay!” Clarke screamed at her, reaching up and shoving Octavia roughly away from her. Both women stood there, staring at each other, chests heaving, fists clenched.  
  
Something in Octavia softened and the anger seemed to go out of her. Clarke watched her warily as she approached again, but this time Octavia just wrapped her arms around her and held her close. Clarke crumpled into her arms, sobbing, crying, clinging to her, and Octavia didn’t move, just letting her get it all out. Once she quieted, the younger girl pulled back again.  
  
“I’m scared too, Clarke,” she said, gentle now. “But sitting here, being scared, isn’t going to change anything, and Bellamy needs us. Fear is a demon, Clarke. So we’re going to get out of this room, we’re going to get ourselves some swords, and we’re going to slay it.”  
  
“I don’t know if I can,” Clarke whispered.  
  
“You can,” Octavia answered, nodding her head, her jaw set firmly as though there was no question. “Because I’m going to make you.”  
  
“There is no point,” a new voice suddenly spoke up from the doorway. The door was closed, but neither of them had heard Lia enter. Now Lia looked at Octavia and said, “Your brother is dead.”  
  
“Don’t you dare say that to me!” Octavia launched herself at the girl, but Lia just caught her fist in her hand and sidestepped at the same time, swatting her away as though she was a fly.  
  
Lia’s attention was on Clarke as she said, “You can still recover from this.”  
  
“I won’t do what Elody is asking me,” Clarke answered immediately, shaking her head. “I won’t be her puppet.”  
  
“Things are already in motion,” Lia answered. “Amat, the village leader here, was angry that Lexa was killed. She has disappeared with Lexa’s body. Her head was saved and is now making the rounds amongst the clans, but the queen must act quickly and install you before a new Heda is chosen. There will be war now.”  
  
“We don’t _care_ about any of that,” Octavia snapped. “Clarke’s not going to do what the queen wants, and all _we_ want is Bellamy and a way out.”  
  
“Bellamy is dead,” Lia said. “The Reaper is in him now. The drug is strong, and he won't survive it.”  
  
“Lincoln was a Reaper,” Octavia snapped. “And Clarke brought him back.”  
  
Lia seemed to look at Clarke with renewed respect as she said, “It is no wonder you have such a formidable reputation amongst the clans.”  
  
“I don’t care about any of that,” Clarke said softly, shaking her head. “I’m not doing it.”  
  
“I want to see my brother,” Octavia spoke up.  
  
“No you don’t,” Clarke said, shaking her head, touching her arm, remembering the pain and shock of Bellamy’s behaviour, the fear she’d felt as he’d torn into her, like he didn’t even know her.  
  
“I _do,”_ Octavia insisted. She looked at Lia. _“You_ could get me in to see him, couldn’t you?”  
  
“I could,” Lia agreed with a shrug. “But I am not authorised to kill you right now, and if I take you to him then dead is what you will be.”  
  
“He won’t kill me,” Octavia said, shaking her head stubbornly. “Never.”  
  
“Octavia… remember Lincoln,” Clarke said gently. “Remember how he was… he didn’t know you.”  
  
“He attacked you and Bellamy twice as hard as he ever attacked me,” Octavia answered shortly. “This is _Bellamy,_ Clarke. We have to try.”  
  
Clarke said nothing for a moment, just trying to decide what to do. She looked at Lia, who was in turn gazing at Octavia with a strange expression, almost like an intense fascination. Clarke didn’t know this child, but she could see that something about Octavia had her intrigued, and she couldn’t help but think that maybe they could use it.  
  
“Okay,” she said suddenly, and the other two girls both looked at her in surprise. “Take Octavia to see her brother.”  
  
Lia frowned. “That is unwise,” she warned.  
  
Clarke’s mind was working, thinking of possibilities- if they could get out of this room, if Lia could get them to where Bellamy was, then that would at least bring them closer to getting out of here together. She knew Lia was raised to be loyal to the queen, but Clarke got the impression that even her just standing in this room was not something that Elody was aware of. Whatever her reasons were for coming here, maybe they could use that too.  
  
“Let us worry about that,” Octavia said to Lia, seeming to catch on to Clarke’s plan. “Please… I need to see him.”  
  
For a moment Lia said nothing, and then she shrugged. “Very well. You will see him- but you will not interact.”  
  
Clarke met Octavia’s eyes and she tried to signal her to be cautious, but she couldn’t be sure if she understood as she charged forward after Lia.  
  
It was dark outside, and the streets were almost totally deserted as Lia led the way. She seemed unconcerned that they would run, but Clarke wasn’t sure if that was because she knew she could easily catch them, if it was because she knew they wouldn’t go anywhere without Bellamy, or both.  
  
When they reached the cell where Bellamy was being held, Clarke felt the fear rising up in her chest again. Octavia seemed to sense it and she leaned in close to Clarke, whispering, “It’s going to be okay… we’ll grab him and we’ll run.”  
  
“How do you grab a Reaper without getting killed?” Clarke hissed back. “And what about Lia?”  
  
Octavia didn’t answer, and it was then that Clarke regretted what they were doing- they had no plan, they were being escorted by an assassin, and they were about to come face-to-face with the most dangerous thing she could imagine- a homicidal crazy person that they were reluctant, perhaps unwilling, to harm.  
  
But Octavia didn’t seem to care about any of that. She just waited impatiently as Lia led them into the room with the window. They saw Bellamy through the glass, crouched in the corner- it was hard to tell if he was asleep or just waiting.  
  
“We have to go in there,” Octavia said suddenly, startling Clarke and even bringing a look of surprise onto Lia’s impassive face.  
  
“Octavia-” Clarke tried to protest.  
  
“No one is going in there,” Lia interrupted. “Certainly not _you,_ Clarke- you are too valuable.”  
  
“Then let me,” Octavia said, not taking her eyes off Bellamy’s huddled form.  
  
“Do you wish to die?” Lia asked her frankly.  
  
“Don’t talk to me about death,” Octavia snapped, turning furious eyes on Lia. “Not after you _killed_ Lincoln.”  
  
Lia said nothing to that, she just glared and said, “That is not your brother.”  
  
“He _is_ my brother,” Octavia yelled at her. _“Lincoln_ was a Reaper and we _saved_ him- _Clarke_ saved him! We can _do_ this.”  
  
“Be that as it may, I will not _let_ you,” Lia growled. “It was a mistake to bring you here.” She frowned, seeming annoyed with herself more than them as she said, “I do not know why I did.”  
  
Clarke met Octavia’s eyes and gave her a subtle shake of her head, trying to convey to her that she should back off, stop arguing, but Octavia seemed to either get a totally different message or ignore her completely as she suddenly lunged sideways and ran out of the room.  
  
Lia went after her, but it only took a second for Octavia to duck inside the room next door, and even Lia seemed hesitant to step into a room with a Reaper. She reappeared at Clarke’s side, angry, grim-faced, and seemed not to know what to do as she looked through the window.  
  
Octavia was standing against the wall, and Bellamy wasn’t moving. Octavia looked up at the window, which Clarke knew must have been a mirror on her side since she didn’t quite look at them as she mouthed, “I’ll be okay.”  
  
Clarke watched, heart pounding, as Octavia turned towards her brother and slowly approached his hunkered down form. When Clarke saw Bellamy’s head snap up, she couldn’t help but fear that nothing would ever be okay again.


	48. 48- Octavia

The room was dark, cold, and it took her a moment for her eyes to adjust. Still, she knew where Bellamy was, not only because she’d seen him through the window, but also because his breath was laboured and loud, so she could locate him easily through the darkness.  
  
She faced the window for a moment and she tried to see Clarke and Lia, but all she saw was her own reflection. Silently she mouthed, “I’ll be okay.”  
  
Turning back in Bellamy’s direction, she swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself for whatever was coming.  
  
“It’s me, Bell,” she said softly as she slowly closed the distance between them. She saw his face snap towards her and she held her breath, trying not to focus on how different he looked- face covered in blood, eyes clouded with a crazy, faraway expression, skin ashen.  
  
She reached him and tried to control the shake in her voice as she said again, “It’s me.” His eyes were boring into hers, his chest heaving. She saw his fists clench.  
  
Octavia dropped to her knees beside him and she reached out with her hands, intending to lay her palms on his knees, but before she could he bolted upright and ran to the other side of the room, plastering himself against the opposite wall, near the door.  
  
She could hear the strain in his breathing, the strange grunting and groaning sounds he was making under his breath, and she recognised all that from when Lincoln had been a Reaper. She knew there was no chance he might escape, since she’d had to hit a button to unlock the door before coming in, and it had slid back into place behind her. They were locked in here together.  
  
“Bell,” she said gently, standing up again, keeping her movements slow as she started towards him.  
  
He launched himself at her, so fast she barely registered his movement until he was grabbing her by the shoulders and throwing her toward the door. He went the opposite way, back to his corner, crouching down with his back to her, holding his head in his hands.  
  
“Go!” he screamed, and it was her brother’s voice and not his voice. Even uttering that single syllable seemed to be incredibly difficult for him, and she heard his breathing catch and grow thicker as he struggled.  
  
“I’m not going to leave you,” she told him, not moving, just talking to him. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”  
  
For a long moment there was silence, and then Bellamy ripped himself away from the wall and he grabbed her, throwing her down roughly onto the floor and jumping on top of her. With his face so close to hers she could see the needle marks on his neck, the redness in his eyes, the sweat beading his forehead, and it broke her heart- to see him like this, so tortured, so broken, so out of control. He screamed into her face, then stopped, staring at her, chest heaving.  
  
“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered, terrified.  
  
Bellamy leaned on his heels, backing onto his knees, clawing his fingers through his hair, his body subtly rocking as he let out heartrending shrieks and soft groans, muttering nonsensically to himself. The sounds were horrifying, but she forced her features into a neutral expression. She wanted to hug him, hold him, but she just sat up slowly and wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees.  
  
“Go,” he whispered, his voice so raw. “Please, I… can’t…”  
  
“Yes you can, Bell,” she said urgently. “You won’t hurt me, I know you won’t.”  
  
“I _will!”_ he yelled at her, grabbing her and shoving her across the floor until her back hit the wall, his hand around her throat like a vice. She grabbed his wrist in both of her hands and widened her eyes, waiting for the squeezing pressure of his grip, but it never came.  
  
“You won’t, will you?” she asked softly. “You can’t hurt me. ”  
  
He was breathing hard, laboured, not looking at her, his eyes wild with terror, sweat pouring down his forehead, hair matted against his scalp, a constant drone of mumbling grunts under his breath as he just knelt there, holding onto her, not loosening or tightening his fist, just holding her throat in his hand.  
  
“I’m going to get you out of here,” Octavia whispered, tightening her fingers around his wrist and pulling gently. He let her remove his hand, and she watched as he dragged his gaze up from the floor and looked at her. “Okay?” she whispered, blinking back tears. “I’m going to get you out of here and you’re going to be fine.”  
  
“Go,” he whispered.  
  
Octavia shook her head. “No. Clarke and I-”  
  
_“Go,”_ he said again, savagely. “You… _and_ Clarke.” It seemed such an effort for him to speak to her.  
  
On impulse she leaned forward into his chest and laid her cheek on his heart, the way she used to when she was little and panicked, needing something solid and reassuring to hang onto. She felt how tense he was, heard the strange rhythm of his heartbeat- first fast, then slow and thudding, and then seeming to skip a few beats, pause for way too long, before returning to normal.  
  
He didn’t wrap his arms around her, as he normally would have. Instead she felt his hand touch her hair, felt his fingers thread through the strands, and for a moment everything seemed fine, but then he was wrenching her back by the hair and shoving her away. He jumped to his feet and put distance between them, and she watched in horror as he put his palms squarely on the wall and rammed his head into it over and over.  
  
“Bellamy, _stop!”_ she yelled, hurrying to him, grabbing his shoulder and trying to haul him away from the wall, hating to watch him hurt himself. He whirled and backhanded her, knocking her to the floor. She tasted blood on her lip, but she barely noticed it as in the next moment he was pulling her upright and holding her against the wall, hands gripping her upper arms. His chest heaved and his teeth ground together with a disturbing crunching sound.  
  
“Hey, big brother,” she whispered, keeping eye contact with him. “I know you won’t let anything happen to me… right?”  
  
He didn’t let go of her, but she felt his grip relax just a little. She held her breath as he leaned his face in close to her neck, and for a moment she was so sure he was going to bite her that she stiffened in dreadful anticipation. She felt his breath on her skin, hot and sticky, and it made her heart pound faster.  
  
But the bite never came. Instead, he laid his forehead down against her shoulder and cried horrible, grief-filled sobs from somewhere deep within him. She tried to move her arms out of his grip, wanting to wrap them around him, but he wouldn’t let her. Somehow she sensed that this was it, this was the limit of his control- he could cry on her shoulder, but if she touched him again then maybe he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from killing her. So she just leaned her cheek against his head and let her own tears fall silently into his hair.  
  
The door opened, startling them both, and Bellamy pulled his head back from her shoulder abruptly and whirled her around, throwing her roughly towards the door. She crashed into whoever had opened it, and she heard the door slam shut behind her and the lock click back into place. Octavia scrambled to her feet and looked down at Lia, who appeared annoyed as she too stood up.  
  
Before Octavia could say anything, Clarke had run up to grab her and wrap her arms around her. “Are you okay?” she asked urgently. She seemed terrified.  
  
Octavia wrestled free of Clarke’s arms and she turned her eyes to Lia, glaring at her. “Why did you _do_ that?” she snapped. “I was getting through to him, couldn’t you see it?”  
  
“Yes,” Lia answered, looking shocked. “I could. How is that possible?”  
  
“I _told_ you,” Octavia answered sharply. “Bellamy wouldn’t hurt me.”  
  
“A Reaper has _never_ been known to show mercy,” Lia insisted. “A Reaper does not care about family, about love, about loyalty. How did you _do_ that?”  
  
Octavia remembered the looks of fascination Lia had often worn when she’d watched her and Bellamy, as though there was something about their relationship that she found intriguing, or like she longed for something similar. Maybe she’d _had_ something similar, once, and missed it.  
  
“He loves me,” Octavia said carefully. “We aren’t like a normal family. He raised me… protected me… he was all I knew aside from our mother for sixteen years… that kind of bond can’t be broken. Maybe it’s stronger than the Red.”  
  
Lia seemed totally captivated by that statement, but also completely perplexed. She frowned at the floor for a long moment before she said, “Follow me.”  
  
A short way down the hall from Bellamy’s cell, Lia opened a door and ushered them inside. Then she left them there, locking them in.  
  
“Bellamy’s still in there, Clarke,” Octavia said, hardly noticing that once again she was a prisoner. “He’s going to be okay- you can help him, just like you did with Lincoln.” She was excited, her heart surging with hope.  
  
“What were you _thinking,_ going in there?” Clarke exclaimed.  
  
“I was thinking I needed to _do_ something,” Octavia snapped. “One of us had to.”  
  
“You almost got yourself killed,” Clarke protested.  
  
“No I didn’t,” she answered, glaring, stubborn.  
  
Clarke drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, and she seemed to switch gears as she started to think through the logistics of what Octavia was asking. “To help him we need to get him out of here… we need to take him to a medical facility, where he can be monitored for a day or two while he detoxes… we’ll need fluids, adrenaline, and a defibrillator to do it properly.”  
  
“Right, and the version that doesn’t take place in a magical fairy land?” Octavia asked dryly.  
  
Clarke flashed her the briefest of smiles, considered that, and then said, “Bare minimum, we need a cave and anything that can deliver an electric shock.”  
  
It still sounded impossible. Both women paced, thinking, Clarke running her hands through her hair, Octavia occasionally kicking the wall in frustration.  
  
Neither of them had come up with any kind of a plan by the time Lia returned. For a moment the little girl just stood in the doorway and looked at them with a grim face that Octavia didn’t quite know how to read. Finally she said, “Come with me and do everything I say. I’m going to take you out of here- all of you.”


	49. 49- Clarke

Lia had found them new clothes. Clarke was conspicuous in her ostentatious dress, and Lia quickly went to work undoing her hair as well. “You must look like one of the common folk,” she told her. Clarke nodded, but as Lia pulled her braids loose and scrubbed the makeup from her face, she couldn’t help but think of Yana- when she ran, what would happen to the servant girl?  
  
Octavia seemed to have no shyness about her body as she stripped down to her underwear and pulled on the clothes Lia had brought her. Clarke averted her eyes as soon as Octavia began to undress, and she couldn’t help but think that the younger girl was probably more comfortable in leather and furs than she was in what she was wearing from the mountain anyway. Once Lia was done fussing with her, Clarke also got dressed, turning her back on the others for some semblance of privacy.  
  
Once they were dressed, Lia pulled a leather roll from her clothes and unfolded it to reveal the same darts that Alek had used on Clarke time and time again. She couldn’t help but have a visceral reaction, stepping back without even meaning to, feeling sick to her stomach with dread.  
  
“These are not for you,” Lia assured her.  
  
“It’s okay, Clarke,” Octavia said gently, reaching out and squeezing her forearm. Clarke nodded her head, pulling in a deep breath to calm her nerves. She couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, though she tried not to be.  
  
Plucking a blue dart from its loop, Lia carefully opened one of the glass vials and dipped the sharp end inside, rolling it between her fingers until it was coated in the liquid. She pulled it out again and held it up to Octavia.  
  
“You must be the one to put him to sleep,” she told her. “He will surely kill Clarke, and he will no doubt force me to kill him if I attempt it.” Octavia nodded and reached for the dart, but Lia moved it just out of her reach and said, “You must be careful to get it in the right place- it will only work properly if it is inserted correctly. The webbing between the fingers and toes is best, but I don’t believe you will have much luck with that. Put it here.” She reached up and lightly touched the dip between Octavia’s shoulder and her neck, and Clarke watched Octavia cringe a little. She couldn’t imagine how it must feel to be touched by the person who murdered Lincoln, but she knew Octavia would put all that aside- do anything- if it meant getting Bellamy out of here.  
  
Octavia nodded her head and said, “No problem.”  
  
“Let us hope so,” Lia answered, handing her the dart. “We will watch from the other room, and intervene if need be.”  
  
“Don’t you dare,” Octavia answered shortly. Looking at Clarke she said, “Don’t you let her hurt him.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Clarke said gently, squeezing Octavia’s shoulder. “I won’t let anyone hurt him- I promise.”  
  
Seeming satisfied with this, Octavia went to the door while Lia and Clarke retreated to the adjoining room. Clarke saw Octavia enter and watched Bellamy’s reaction- he seemed horrified, terribly distressed, that she was there. Even though Clarke couldn’t hear what Octavia was saying, she saw her lips moving, saw her hands up as she gently approached him, like she was cajoling him, and she just hoped this went as well as their last encounter had.  
  
“Why are you doing this?” she couldn’t help but ask Lia while they waited.  
  
“I have my reasons,” Lia answered, not taking her eyes from the Blakes.  
  
“Is it them?” Clarke pressed. “Something about the two of them- what is it?”  
  
Lia looked at her and she frowned. “Why are you so eager to know my reasons? Is it not enough that I am helping you?”  
  
“You murdered my friend,” Clarke answered frankly. “I don’t trust you.”  
  
If Lia was offended by that comment, she didn’t show it. She turned her eyes back to the window, where Octavia could be seen getting closer to Bellamy where he was crouching, tearing at his hair. It was so hard for Clarke to see him like that- he was usually so strong, and what Elody had reduced him to… it made her so angry even to think of it- the destruction she’d caused in their lives.  
  
Inside, Octavia finally made it to Bellamy’s side and she dropped to her knees next to him. Even through the wall they could hear the horrible, gut-wrenching sounds Bellamy was making as his sister reached out and laid her hand on his head, stroking her fingers gently through his curls.  
  
Lia said suddenly, interrupting Clarke’s thoughts, “I have never seen anything like that. I have very little experience with love. Most of my assignments are short, and I have never been able to get to know anyone before this. If I was told to kill them… I don’t think I would like that.”  
  
Clarke knew that her lack of experience was because most of her assignments involved murder, but she didn’t say that, she just said, “But what about your own family?”  
  
“I didn’t have a family,” Lia answered. “I was raised with other shadow children, and love was not important to our purpose.” She kept watching as Bellamy stayed still, just letting Octavia comfort him, and she seemed totally fascinated by it. Finally she looked at Clarke and said, “You say that Lincoln was a Reaper, and you helped him overcome the drug… and Bellamy is a Reaper, and yet his love for his sister is stronger than the Red. I feel you are more valuable alive. Besides… you have missed your chance to do as the queen wishes. You were meant to be presented as the new Heda alongside the proof that the old one has fallen, and now that the clans know she is gone, they will assemble the conclave, and Lexa’s _keryon_ will already have been released. We may not have received word of it yet, but it will all be done. Your window to become Heda has closed.”  
  
“I don’t understand what any of that means,” Clarke said, confused, but also feeling something else- a tiny pull of guilt, like maybe she had missed an opportunity, fighting against becoming commander. But that thought scared her, so she pushed it aside.  
  
“It is finished,” Lia said, nodding towards the window. Octavia was cradling Bellamy in her arms, and he was obviously unconscious, a fleck of blue buried in his neck. “We must move quickly now.”  
  
Stepping into the cell, Clarke got her first close up look at Bellamy since he’d attacked her days before, and she couldn’t help but notice how young he looked- freckles standing out on his pale skin, eyelids fluttering in disturbed sleep, hair tousled like a little boy’s, curled into Octavia’s lap as though he was her child.  
  
“Help me get him up,” Octavia said to Clarke.  
  
“Wait,” Lia stopped her before she could bend down, and from her belt she pulled out an injector, loaded with a vial of Red.  
  
Alarmed, Clarke threw herself between Lia and the Blakes. “What do you think you’re _doing?”_ she asked, totally appalled.  
  
“When we leave this building you will be an enemy of the Ice Nation,” Lia said calmly. “We must travel far from here before it will be safe to stop, and without the drug, he will die. I will only give him a quarter dose every few hours- it will keep him alive.”  
  
Clarke hesitated, but she saw the logic to it- she remembered how quickly Lincoln had gone downhill, and if they had to flee then she wouldn’t exactly have time to resuscitate him and treat him properly. Plus, there was still the problem that they didn’t have a defibrillator or even a shock baton.  
  
“Let me do it,” she said finally.  
  
“Clarke!” Octavia exclaimed, hugging Bellamy closer to her protectively. “Are you crazy? We want him _off_ that drug, not having more of it.”  
  
“Trust me,” Clarke said gently, holding her hand out for the injector. Reluctantly, Lia gave it to her, and Clarke crouched down to look into Octavia’s eyes. “I wouldn’t do this unless we had to,” she assured her. “I wouldn’t hurt Bellamy, you know that.”  
  
Octavia hesitated, looking down at Bellamy’s face for a moment, before finally gritting her teeth and nodding. “Fine. Do it.”  
  
Clarke watched Bellamy’s face for a moment, hardly believing she was going to dose him up with something so destructive, but she felt a lot better doing it herself than having Lia do it. The girl appeared to be helping her, but that didn’t mean Clarke was going to trust her blindly, and she knew Octavia wouldn’t.  
  
Reaching out with her hand, Clarke laid her fingers gently against Bellamy’s neck, feeling for his pulse. “It’s erratic,” she said, frowning.  
  
“Yeah, his heart is beating funny,” Octavia agreed. “I heard it before.”  
  
“It’s part of the side effects of the Red,” Lia volunteered. “Reapers don’t live long. They usually suffer heart attacks after a few weeks, which is why the mountains always require more strong men.”  
  
Octavia paled, but Clarke said quickly, “Don’t worry, that’s _not_ going to happen.” She looked at Bellamy’s sleeping face and said urgently to him, “Do you hear me?” She couldn’t lose him, not now.  
  
“Just do it so we can get out of here,” Octavia said, leaning her face down and burying it in Bellamy’s hair.  
  
Clarke kept her fingers on his pulse and slid the injector into the other side of his neck, slowly depressing the activator. The Red began trickling through the needle, and at the same time she felt Bellamy’s pulse gradually evening out. When it settled into a normal rhythm, she stopped injecting him, pulling the needle out.  
  
“I do not think you gave him enough,” Lia warned.  
  
“Yes, I did,” Clarke answered. “I gave him the bare minimum.” She helped Octavia with him, supporting half the weight of his unconscious body by throwing his arm around her shoulder, Octavia doing the same thing on the other side.  
  
Lia led them outside and down a narrow street to the back of another building. She seemed cautious and nervous, but no one came upon them. There were three horses waiting for them, and with great difficulty they managed to get Bellamy up onto the back of one, his body slumping forward over its neck.  
  
“We need to tie him to it,” Clarke said to Lia, steadying him with her hand. “Do you have any rope?”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Octavia said, climbing up behind her brother and putting her arms under his, taking the reigns in her hands and letting him slump back into her chest. “Let’s just get out of here.”  
  
Clarke and Lia mounted their own horses and Lia instructed them, “They _will_ begin searching for us at dawn. Keep your heads down, follow me, and we may live to see the stars again.”  
  
Turning their horses east, they slipped quietly through the streets, out of the city, and into the gathering dawn.


	50. 50- Octavia

They pushed the horses until they were all on the brink of exhaustion, and then Lia turned them off the deer trail they were following and deep into the thickness of the forest, where brambles tore at their hair and the trees barely left space for them to pass. There was something comforting, though, about being swallowed by the woods, cocooned and unreachable. Maybe it would keep them safe, at least long enough to get Bellamy through this.  
  
Even with three of them, it was hard to ease the dead weight of his body off the horse and lay him in the dirt. It was cold, night falling, and the frogs singing through the darkness told her there was water nearby.  
  
“We cannot risk a fire,” Lia cautioned as she started pulling furs out of saddlebags, enough to keep them warm, though Octavia could see her breath hanging in the air like puffs of smoke, even in the darkness.  
  
Clarke leaned down and felt Bellamy’s pulse. Frowning, she pulled out the injector and slid the needle into his neck, monitoring his heart rate as she measured out the dose. Octavia reached for the feather at his neck but Clarke cautioned, “Give him a minute. We don’t know how he’ll be.”  
  
Octavia shifted Bellamy’s head into her lap and stroked his curls, felt his skin like wax as she touched his cheek, his face clammy and drawn. She stayed with him as Clarke helped Lia lay furs down on the ground, then she helped them move him onto the makeshift bed and cover him with more furs.  
  
“We should restrain him,” Clarke said, looking around doubtfully at their surroundings.  
  
“We had Lincoln in the dropship with metal chains and he still got free,” Octavia pointed out, frowning. “You gave him Red, shouldn’t that settle him?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Clarke admitted. “I never saw Lincoln when he was on the drug.”  
  
Octavia remembered finding Lincoln outside tonDC- his behaviour had been disturbing, but he’d definitely been cognizant, and not dangerous. She said to Clarke, “He’ll be fine on the Red. We need to get food and water into him.”  
  
“Compromise?” Clarke asked gently. “We’ll tie his hands and feet.”  
  
No one commented on the fact that rope would make no difference if he wanted to be free. Octavia just nodded, and they let Lia tie the knots because they trusted her to be the most ruthless.  
  
“Get back,” Clarke warned her.  
  
“No way,” Octavia said, shaking her head. “He’ll be scared enough when he wakes up, I don’t want him to be alone.”  
  
“Octavia, I’m not worried about him being scared,” Clarke said. “I’m worried about him killing you.”  
  
“Bellamy would _never-”_  
  
“Just- please?” Clarke cut her off. “Can you not be stubborn this one time?”  
  
Octavia glared at her, but she shifted Bellamy’s head and stood up, walking over to the horses. “Happy?”  
  
“Yes,” Clarke said, though she sounded far from it. She reached down and swiftly pulled the dart from Bellamy’s neck before hastily stepping back to where Octavia stood.  
  
He came to with a jolt and a gasp, and his eyes darted everywhere- taking in the trees, the stars, the furs around him. Octavia wondered if he could see them. She remembered how sensitive Lincoln had been to light and wondered if the Red did something to their vision, made it easier to see in the dark of the tunnels.  
  
Bellamy tried to sit up and for the first time he noticed his hands were bound. He rolled onto his side instead, managing to struggle to a sitting position. She wanted to help him, but Clarke’s hand like a vice around her arm stopped her from going to him.  
  
Once he was sitting he looked around again and this time he seemed to notice them across the clearing. He let out a groan of frustration and then the single word, “Why?”  
  
“Are you okay?” Octavia couldn’t resist asking.  
  
He nodded. “Yeah… mostly. How?”  
  
“We’ve given you some of the drug,” Clarke answered carefully. “Just enough to control your symptoms.”  
  
At that, Bellamy swallowed a little, but nodded his head. “Good.”  
  
Octavia pulled her arm out of Clarke’s grip and said, “He’s fine.” She went to him, but Bellamy jerked backward, startling her.  
  
“Stay away from me,” he cautioned, putting his first real sentence together, his tone urgent.  
  
“Hey, it’s okay,” Octavia said gently, dropping to her knees, staying at the edge of the makeshift bed. “You didn’t attack me when you were in withdrawal, you’re not going to attack me now.”  
  
“You don’t _know_ that,” he insisted. “Just… stay back. Please, O.”  
  
“I’m staying right here,” she assured him, keeping her tone gentle.  
  
Clarke approached next and stood near Octavia, keeping a good couple of metres back from Bellamy. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“Like shit,” he answered honestly. “Like my heart’s going to explode.”  
  
Octavia remembered Lia’s explanation about Red causing heart damage and she looked at Clarke sharply. Clarke seemed to understand her fears, and gave her a reassuring look. “I want to check your heart rate,” she said to Bellamy, and Octavia heard her voice waver just a little.  
  
Bellamy’s face fell and Octavia could have killed Clarke for the look of despair that came over him. She could read him like a book, and she could see that it broke his heart to think that Clarke might be scared of him. "Okay," he said, very quietly. Clarke approached him slowly, dropping to her knees in front of him. Octavia watched as he looked up into Clarke’s eyes, tried to smile, but she knew that look- it wasn’t a real smile, it was tight and full of self-loathing. He was thinking about how he'd bitten her, hurt her. Softly he said, “I’m sorry.”  
  
Something in Clarke’s face collapsed and she shook her head, blinking back tears. She touched her fingers to his neck and he flinched, which made her flinch, but she kept her fingers there, and Octavia breathed an inward sigh of relief as the tense moment passed.  
  
“Your pulse is a little fast, but it’s okay,” she assured everyone. “Just… tell me if you start craving the drug again.”  
  
“I’m already craving it,” he said, an edge to his voice. “It’s practically all I can think about.”  
  
Clarke paused. “Well… you seem remarkably coherent,” she said. “The small doses must be keeping you just enough in control.”  
  
“You still need to be careful,” he cautioned her. “Just… keep back.” His eyes slid to Octavia and he said, “You too, O.”  
  
Stubbornly Octavia shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”  
  
Clarke stood and went to the horses, bringing out water and some food that Lia had managed to get in Polis before they left. Belatedly Bellamy noticed Lia standing there and he tensed. ”What the hell is _she_ doing here?”  
  
“She got us out,” Clarke answered, crouching down next to him and holding a cup of water to his mouth. “Here, drink.”  
  
Bellamy was obviously still disturbed by Lia’s presence but as soon as the water touched his lips he drank it down eagerly. He downed three full cups before he finally settled enough to speak again. “So what’s the plan?”  
  
“We don’t really have one,” Clarke admitted. “Other than to get you somewhere safe so we can detox you like we did with Lincoln.”  
  
“Great,” Bellamy said dryly, shaking his head. “What about the queen?”  
  
“She is hunting us,” Lia volunteered. “We must be extremely careful... it is difficult to say what the best course is, considering we are being pursued and your camp is so far away from here.”  
  
“Can we figure that out _later?”_ Clarke asked, an edge of stress to her voice.  
  
Octavia watched as Bellamy met Clarke’s eyes, a small smile playing at his lips. Softly he said, “Whenever you’re ready.”  
  
The smile those words brought to Clarke’s face was so bright that Octavia knew there was more to what he’d said, that he’d evoked some kind of memory of her.  
  
“There’s water that way, isn’t there?” Octavia asked Lia. “I’ll go fill up our canteens.”  
  
“No,” Lia answered, surprising her. “The water that way is not for drinking. It is a hot spring.” Looking to Clarke she said, “I thought it might help with Bellamy’s recovery… Red tends to cause muscle cramping.”  
  
“You can say that again,” Bellamy said. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a meteor.”  
  
“You’re also dirty as hell,” Octavia teased lightly. “And you stink.”  
  
Clarke and Bellamy both laughed, and some of the tension seemed to dissipate.  
  
“First thing tomorrow, we’ll all have a dip,” Clarke said. “It’s too cold to go now- we won’t be able to warm up and the last thing any of us need is hypothermia.”  
  
“You should take turns watching me,” Bellamy said to her, serious again. “And keep dosing me up, make sure I don’t go crazy.”  
  
“The drug is really bad for you, Bell,” Octavia said apprehensively. “It can hurt your heart.”  
  
“Better that than me hurting one of you,” he said gently, giving her a reassuring look. “I’ll be fine- Clarke will fix me up.”  
  
“No pressure,” Clarke muttered under her breath, but she was smiling.  
  
All of them ate, drank, and then Octavia laid down to sleep. She cuddled close to her brother without even thinking about it, but he warned her away, forcing her to move her bed to the other side of the clearing. Clarke sat up for first watch, but Octavia didn’t close her eyes either. Only Lia and Bellamy actually slept.  
  
In his sleep, Bellamy grunted and wailed like he was having horrible nightmares, and eventually she couldn’t stand it anymore. She threw off her furs and went to him, shifting his head into her lap.  
  
“Octavia-” Clarke warned.  
  
“Screw you,” Octavia cut her off, stroking her fingers through Bellamy’s curls until he settled. Looking at Clarke, she asked quietly, “You _can_ fix him, right?”  
  
“The Red should hold him over until we get back to Camp Jaha,” Clarke assured her. “And then, with the medical equipment there, detoxing him will be easy.”  
  
“Easy,” Octavia repeated, feeling like the word was foreign on her tongue. “None of this has been _easy.”_  
  
Clarke cringed a little. “I know,” she said softly.  
  
“When we get back there and he's better, you know you’re staying, right?” Octavia asked, looking down at Bellamy’s face and trying to smooth the tension from his forehead with the backs of her fingers.  
  
When she didn’t get a response, she looked at Clarke, who was in turn looking down at the ground.  
  
“Don’t you _dare,”_ Octavia growled. “Don’t even _think_ about leaving again.”  
  
“I won’t,” Clarke said quickly. “I won’t, I promise, I was just… thinking.”  
  
“About what?” Octavia snapped, unable to let it go. The idea that this- all _this-_ could end with Clarke abandoning them again made her absolutely furious. “How _wrong_ you were?”  
  
“I did what I thought was best,” she said softly, meeting her eyes, and Octavia saw the plea there- her gaze said, _please just leave it alone._  
  
But she couldn’t. “Yeah, and guess what?” she pressed. “We all had to pick up the pieces when you walked away from camp.” Gesturing down at Bellamy she said, “And _I_ had to pick up the pieces when you walked away from _him.”_  
  
Clarke flinched and looked away, and then she nodded her head. “I know.”  
  
“Good,” Octavia said. “As long as you know- you’re not allowed to leave.” She turned her attention back to her brother and lowered her lips to his forehead, kissing him softly before whispering, “And _you’re_ not allowed to die.”


	51. 51- Bellamy

Waking with a terrible jolt, Bellamy let out a long, shaky breath, trying to banish the horrible visions of what he’d just been dreaming about- death and destruction, all the suffering that had happened at his hands.  
  
“Hold still,” Clarke’s gentle voice came from next to him, and he did, letting her slide the needle into his neck. He felt her fingers, cool against his pulse, felt the Red flood through his veins, and he drew in deep, shaky breaths, trying not to let it show just how good it felt to get that drug.  
  
“Does it hurt?” she asked softly, misinterpreting his reaction.  
  
Very slightly, he shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”  
  
When she withdrew the injector it took all his strength not to break the ropes on his wrists and grab it, force her to empty the whole syringe. The cravings were overwhelming, and even at a partial dose he felt dizzy with bliss for a few minutes, though it sickened him to feel how much control it had over him.  
  
After a little while Clarke drew her hand back, seeming satisfied with his pulse, and she returned to the horses, tucking the injector away in one of the saddlebags. Lia watched their supply of Red like a hawk, even sleeping with it, so he knew she knew what it did to him. Oddly, her security was comforting.  
  
He looked up at the sky- it was barely dawn, still dark. Belatedly, he felt Octavia’s body curled along his side, her head tucked into his shoulder, heard her soft breaths of sleep. He frowned at Clarke.  
  
“I couldn’t stop her,” she said, pre-empting his complaint as she returned to his side, shaking her head. “Believe me, I tried.”  
  
“Please, just… don’t let me do anything to her,” he said urgently. “Or you. I couldn’t live with myself. It’s bad enough-” He broke off, deliberating trying to banish Echo’s face from his mind’s eye. The worst part was the memories tied in with her death- the pleasure he’d taken in her blood flowing, hot and sticky, into his mouth and down over his chin, the uncaring way he’d slaughtered a person who had grown to mean something to him. Bellamy shook his head, trying to force all of it from his mind.  
  
“Hey,” Clarke said gently. “Don’t worry… I’m monitoring you closely. As long as we keep dosing you regularly, you should be fine.”  
  
He looked into her eyes, and the trepidation he saw there tore at his already bruised heart. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he said softly, cringing, lowering his eyes to the ground.  
  
There was a pause and then Clarke dropped to her knees in front of him and he felt her hand on his shoulder. He had no choice but to look at her, and then she said, “We’re going to get through this, Bellamy… I promise. We’re almost home. And you’re the only reason any of us are still alive.”  
  
He could see that she meant it, and the relief that he felt overwhelmed him for a moment. Then it turned into fear as she started untying the ropes at his feet. “Hey, don’t do that,” he urged her, trying to pull away, but she’d already loosened the knots and they slid off his ankles, freeing him.  
  
“Don’t worry,” she assured him gently. “I’ll leave your hands tied, okay? I just want to take you to the hot springs and get you cleaned up.”  
  
He smiled at her, liking that idea in spite of the worry he felt that he might suddenly go insane and hurt her. If that happened, would he feel it coming? How fast would he snap? He remembered how it had felt to watch Lincoln choose the Red over him, leaving him at the mercy of the mountain, and at that time, Lincoln hadn’t even really been a friend yet. He swore to himself that he’d die before he’d betray Clarke the same way, but he was also acutely aware of how incredibly strong the drug’s influence really was. When it came right down to it,  _was_ he strong enough to fight it? Even for her, or for Octavia?  
  
“Come on,” she said, smiling, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him to his feet. He was scared, but somehow her confidence lessened it just a little.  
  
Bellamy hesitated, looking down at Octavia, surprised their voices and movements hadn’t woken her, realising just how tired she must have been. He glanced over at Lia next and said, “We shouldn’t leave them alone together.”  
  
“Lia risked a lot to help us,” Clarke said. “She won’t hurt Octavia.” The ‘again’ hung unspoken in the air between them.  
  
A small smile played at Bellamy’s lips. “I was more worried about O attacking _her.”_  
  
With a soft laugh, Clarke tugged on his arm and he allowed her to lead him through the dense trees a short way, until they arrived at the hot springs. It didn’t really look like much, just a steamy dip in the earth, but it was big enough and deep enough, and the hot water looked extremely inviting.  
  
“I’m going to have to take these off after all,” Clarke said, touching his wrists. Before he could protest she had untied the ropes and let them fall to the ground, and then she said, “Take off your clothes.”  
  
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” he teased her, and he enjoyed the redness that rose into her cheeks before she rolled her eyes, gave him a shove, and stepped back a little. Anything to lighten the mood. He peeled off his clothes, getting down to just his underwear, and then turned to step into the hot water, hardly believing how good it felt as he sank in up to his chin.  
  
“Careful you don’t put your head under,” Clarke warned him, turning back around to face him again. “I remember reading on the Ark that some hot springs have amoebas that can get into your brain through your ear canal.”  
  
“Wow, that’s… comforting,” he said dryly, but made sure not to submerge his whole head, though up till then he’d really wanted to.  
  
Clarke sat down on a rock at the edge of the pool and pulled a clean cloth out of her pocket, handing it over. “Clean up,” she said. “You’ll feel better.”  
  
Bellamy smiled and took the cloth, dipping it in the water and starting to wash up. The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, and he watched the way the rays caught in Clarke’s hair. He found himself battling an intense desire to splash her, but he knew it would be inappropriate.  
  
His humour faded abruptly as he glanced down at the water and saw a red hue quickly spreading throughout the pool. His jaw tightened and he couldn’t help but think of all the Grounders they’d brought to him in his cell, how he’d killed each one without any thought of their lives, only the drug he was given as a reward. He couldn’t help but think of Echo, how she’d saved his life over and over, and he hadn’t given a second thought to sinking his teeth into her neck.  
  
Bellamy felt a sudden ache in his chest and a lump rose up in his throat so fast that he was already choking on it as the tears started. He just hung his head and wept silently, hoping Clarke wouldn’t notice.  
  
But of course she noticed right away, and she seemed alarmed at his sudden change in mood as she said, “What is it?”  
  
He just shook his head, crying silent tears as he covered his face with his hands, hating that she was looking at him, looking at the water, the blood of all those innocent people he’d killed.  
  
He was surprised by a sudden displacement of water as she slipped into the hot spring next to him. It wasn’t a big pool, really only large enough for two, or maybe three very friendly people, but still he tried to back away, his tears stopping from the surprise. He looked at her, watching as her blonde hair fanned out and became stained with the blood in the water.  
  
“Your hair,” he managed to speak, gathering it up in his hands and holding the ends, now pink, above the surface. He hated to see her like that, stained with the blood he’d shed.  
  
Clarke looked down and her expression seemed to soften as she realised what was bothering him so much. Gently she extracted her hair from his grip and let it sink back into the water. “I don’t care,” she told him firmly.  
  
He met her eyes, finding himself suspicious, not believing her- but all he saw in her gaze was honesty and truth. He shook his head, a few more tears slipping down his cheeks, unable to look at her through the shame.  
  
She moved closer to him, taking both his hands in hers. “Hey, don’t do that,” she said softly. “Don’t shut me out.”  
  
He wanted so badly to hold onto her, but he let go instead, backing up against the rocks, as far away from her as he could get. He shook his head. “Clarke, no.”  
  
His rejection hurt her more than he’d expected as she whispered, “Why not?” Her voice swung up with something like anguish on the second word. “Bellamy- you told me yourself- what we do to survive… that’s not who we are. Not _really.”_  
  
It felt like a lifetime ago that he’d told her that, and while he could remember believing it then, remember the hope he’d tried to offer her with those words, now it seemed like he’d been someone else. Naïve, even in the face of all that had happened up to then… never believing it could get so much worse.  
  
Again he met her gaze and he pulled in a sniffling breath. “I don’t know how you can even stand to look at me,” he whispered, feeling wretched, desperate- he was a demon, a murderer.  
  
Bellamy was unprepared for the matching desperation in her own voice as she cried, “The same way you can look at me!” For a moment silence hung between them until she said softly, “Okay? We’ve both done things, Bellamy… horrible things. What happened to Echo- that wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t _you.”_  
  
They lost eye contact as Bellamy shook his head, his gaze falling again to the bloodstained water, then up to the sky.  
  
He felt her hands seize his cheeks and she forced him to look at her. Fiercely she said, _“I_ know who _you_ are.”  
  
Bellamy stared at her- she was so adamant, so certain, that he found he couldn’t do anything but believe her. Never had he experienced such acceptance from anyone who didn’t share his blood, but again and again she had believed in him, even when they’d barely known each other. For a long moment he just stared at her, before finally he asked, softy, “How do you do that?”  
  
He saw her forehead wrinkle, saw her eyes dart back and forth across his gaze as she tried to understand what he was meaning. So he filled in the blanks for her- he told her, “You just… you say one simple thing, and somehow it makes everything better.” He didn’t realise until now that maybe, when she’d gone, he’d missed that most of all. Without her beside him all he could see was everything he’d done wrong, could still do wrong. But with her next to him, he felt like he was worth something, that he wasn’t just a monster after all. That he could be better, be the man his mother had raised him to be- a good man.  
  
Clarke lowered her palms from his cheeks, but he grabbed her hands in his and pulled her through the water toward him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. He could feel her chest pressing against his, the pounding of her heart, the warmth of the water around them, and one of his knees was just lightly touching her thigh. Her eyes were locked on his, her gaze full of questions.  
  
When he kissed her it seemed to surprise her, but only briefly, because almost immediately she melted into his lips, her whole body sinking into his arms. He held her, kissing her just lightly at first, testing, and then when she offered no resistance he curled a hand into her hair and parted his lips against hers. When his tongue found hers he felt her jump a little, and he laughed softly, pulling back from her lips and resting his forehead against hers. “Sorry,” he whispered.  
  
She shook her head. Her breath was warm, her skin soft. He sank his fingertips into her hair, parting the strands to stroke the base of her neck. He felt her shiver at his touch and he opened his eyes, taking in every detail of her face- eyes still closed, lips slightly parted, a pink hue to her cheeks, hair hanging in damp waves alongside her face. She was beautiful, but to notice that seemed somehow absurd, beside the point, considering how strong, intelligent, brave, resilient, tenacious, warm, considerate, generous, and kind she was.  
  
Yes, Clarke was beautiful, but beauty was nothing compared to everything else that she was, and he wondered when exactly he’d first noticed it all, first saw how incredible she really was. When had he gone from being infuriated by her to not knowing how to live without her by his side? Why did it surprise him so much, considering the hell he’d gone through to find her, without ever once questioning if it made sense?  
  
He watched as she finally opened her eyes to look at him, watched her tongue dart out and wet her lips before she said, softly, “We should go back.”  
  
Bellamy touched the curve of her cheek lightly with his fingertips and he nodded, but neither of them moved. Instead he watched as she leaned her face into his touch, raising her chin, and he took that as an invitation to cover her mouth with his again. This time she opened her lips to him, her fingers anchoring in his hair. The electric shock that jolted through him was better than any drug as she seemed to grow braver, her tongue seeking his out hungrily. He was happy to oblige her, drinking her in, holding her close, kissing her deeply until they both had to pull away and breathe again. In that moment oxygen felt so overrated- an inconvenience.  
  
“We really do need to get back,” she told him, voice soft. She picked up the cloth that was still floating nearby and wiped it down his neck, cleaning the last of the stains from his chest. He just watched her as she removed whatever blood he hadn’t seen, and he couldn’t help but feel like he was seeing her for the first time.  
  
Finally she pulled away from him and he let her go, tracking her movements with his eyes as she pulled herself from the pool and gathered her shirt up at the front, squeezing it out over the water as best she could. He hauled himself out of the pool too, picking up the furs she’d brought and handing one over. They dried off as much as possible before pulling the rest of their clothes back on. He enjoyed the flush that had stayed on Clarke’s cheeks the whole time, surprised to be introduced to a new side of her- a shy side, bashful even. He found it cute. It made him feel like there was even more to discover.  
  
They were forced back into a reluctant reality as soon as they returned to the campsite, seeing Lia and Octavia already packed and ready to leave.  
  
“Hey,” Octavia called warmly to him, but he heard the nervousness in her voice. “I was about to come looking for you guys.”  
  
“We’re fine,” he assured her. He didn’t look at her, not wanting her to read his face and maybe realise what had just happened. He wanted to keep it to himself, treasure it a little, before anyone else had anything to say about it. He glanced at Clarke, held her eyes for a moment, and he could see that she felt the same way.  
  
“We must leave now,” Lia spoke up, shattering the moment. Bellamy tore his gaze away from Clarke, climbed up on his and Octavia’s horse, waited for his sister to settle in behind him, and then together the four of them set out again.  
  
He was glad Octavia was guiding their horse, because no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the path ahead, he simply couldn’t. This time, it wasn’t the Red that was consuming his thoughts. In fact, he hardly thought about the drug at all, instead imagining the feel of Clarke’s lips against his, as he tried to wrap his mind around how drastically things had just changed.


	52. 52- Clarke

It was a cold, miserable journey- hours of hard riding during the day, and nights with no fire, no way to keep warm. Clarke made sure to inject Bellamy at least every hour to two with a small dose of Red, but he was careful too, telling her if the cravings were getting too strong. She watched him closely, seeing how hard it was for him to relax, and even when they made camp for the night, his nightmares woke him frequently. Nobody slept properly, but no one complained either- it was what had to be done.  
  
The more distance they put between themselves and Polis, the more nervous Clarke felt. She dreaded going back to Camp Jaha, seeing her friends, her mother… all the people she’d left behind. What would they think of her? Would they see her as nothing but the coward she felt like she was? Would they ever forgive her for leaving them?  
  
She was too preoccupied with dread and worry to really think about what had happened between her and Bellamy at the hot springs. The memory of his lips against hers, his arms around her, their bodies close, had faded until it almost seemed like a dream- too sweet, too fleeting, to have actually happened.  
  
But she knew that it had. She could see it in his gaze, in the way his soft brown eyes locked onto hers whenever she stepped close to administer the drug. Or at night, when they were all laying on their furs, trying to fall asleep, he would watch her. He never said anything, so neither did she, but she couldn’t help but wonder what he might be thinking. It was too difficult, with Octavia and Lia, for them to have a real conversation, and no other opportunities like the privacy of the hot pool had presented themselves.  
  
More than once they sighted their pursuers, usually from the top of a hillside, where it was easy to look back in the direction they'd come from. They may have been far away, but the fact that they were visible at all made Clarke sick with worry, and even Lia- usually so impassive- would become nervous as she watched them approach.  
  
Once Lia had said, quietly so as not to wake Bellamy as he slept off another dose of Red, “Perhaps we should abandon the horses. They leave a distinct trail.”  
  
“No way,” Octavia had protested immediately. “Bellamy doesn’t have time for us to be on foot. The longer he’s taking that drug the worse the heart damage is going to be, right?”  
  
Lia had just pressed her lips together and said, “The dead have no need of hearts.”  
  
“No one’s going to die,” Clarke had snapped, her nerves beyond frayed. “They’re not going to catch us… we just have to keep moving.” Everyone had gone silent then, and Lia never suggested it again.  
  
But Clarke was wrong- it soon became clear that their pursuers  _were_ going to catch them, as they drew a little closer every day. Each night they made camp for shorter and shorter times, not trusting the forest to conceal them anymore, not trusting that they wouldn’t be awoken with knives in their chests.  
  
When it did happen, finally, it happened very suddenly. One moment they were tramping through the woods, the sun high above them, birds singing, and then they heard shouts and the vicious barking of dogs.  
  
They all stopped their horses dead, and just listened as the noises came closer- five seconds stretched to eternity as Clarke’s eyes flew to Bellamy’s, and she could see he was as scared as she felt.  
  
“The scouts are upon us,” Lia declared. “We must run.” No one protested. They started their horses galloping despite the trees, risking that they might break a leg on an exposed root or lose their footing on a hill, each of them knowing it would all be over if that happened but having no choice but to take the chance.  
  
“I knew we should have taken the time to get weapons!” Clarke heard Octavia yell at one point.  
  
“Just hold onto me,” Bellamy called back to her urgently, and Clarke saw his hand grab for hers to make sure she was holding tightly to his stomach.  
  
Lia seemed intent on pointing out, “If we had delayed any further, they would have been on top of us days ago.”  
  
No one could argue with that, so they just kept going. Clarke could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the blood rushing in her ears- it couldn’t be over, not now, not like _this._  
  
Finally, they broke through the treeline and into a meadow of rolling hills and tall grasses, swaying gently in a breeze. It would have been beautiful if they weren’t running for their lives.  
  
But what caught Clarke’s eye wasn’t the picturesque landscape, but the huddle of tents squatting low on the horizon.  
  
“There!” she yelled, directing the attention of the others and turning her horse that way.  
  
“Who are they?” Bellamy shouted, an edge to his voice.  
  
“That is the banner of the _Fayakru,”_ Lia answered.  
  
“Is that good?” Octavia asked. “Will they help us?”  
  
All Lia would say was, “It is better than the Ice Nation.”  
  
Clarke urged her horse to run flat-out, hearing the animal panting, knowing they’d been pushing the horses for days and praying that none of them would choose this moment to collapse. The tents seemed to get no closer as they hurried in that direction, but she knew her fear was only making her eyes play tricks.  
  
As they finally neared, they heard shouting up ahead and saw warriors emerging from the tents, wielding swords and clearly very unhappy to see them. Clarke looked over at Bellamy and she saw him shake his head, just once, and she knew he wanted them to turn. She looked both ways, trying to decide which path would be faster, safer.  
  
But Lia kept charging forward, straight at the tents, and Clarke couldn’t help but follower her, hoping the little girl knew something they didn’t.  
  
“Clarke, this is bad!” Bellamy yelled over at her.  
  
“It’s _all_ bad!” she yelled back. “We have no choice!”  
  
“Maybe the _Fayakru_ will attack the _Azegdakru_ and we can slip away,” Octavia supplied, but she sounded as doubtful as Clarke felt.  
  
The warriors formed themselves into a perimeter in front of the tents, swords held high, and just as they were about to charge directly through the camp, Lia pulled her horse to a stop, Clarke and the Blakes quickly doing the same thing.  
  
The horses stood there, angrily tossing their heads, snorting, stamping their feet. For a tense moment nothing happened, no one moved, though Clarke could still hear the galloping of their pursuers, the growls of their dogs.  
  
Then something amazing happened. One of the warriors signaled to the others and several of them quickly raised bows, pulled back arrows, and aimed them right at the Ice Nation’s scouts. Clarke whirled her head in time to see a volley of arrows embed themselves in the dogs that had been about to reach them. The animals whimpered, reeling off their trajectories and collapsing into the grass, some panting a little before going still.  
  
The Ice Nation’s riders- eight of them, in full armour- pulled up their horses and stood just out of range of the arrows. The bowmen kept them in their sights, and for a long moment no one spoke. The tension was palpable in the air.  
  
Lia said something in Trigedasleng, and Clarke heard Octavia say quietly to Bellamy, “She’s asking them for safe passage, telling them we mean no harm.” One of the men snapped a reply to Lia, and Octavia let go of Bellamy and shimmied sideways, dropping to the ground. Lia did the same, and Clarke quickly realised they had been given an order to dismount. She and Bellamy hopped off their horses and Bellamy reached out a hand to beckon her over. Only once she joined him did he seem to relax, with both her and Octavia within arm’s reach of him. Clarke wished she felt as comforted, but everyone was still so tense, and she had no idea what to expect.  
  
One of the warriors stepped forward and gathered the reins of their horses up in her hands, leading them away. Clarke’s heart sank, knowing that now they wouldn't be going anywhere, and not sure just what might happen next.  
  
Under his breath Bellamy said, “If we have to run, stay close together and head for the forest.”  
  
But Clarke knew there was no use in running; if they did, they’d be shot before they ever made it to the trees. One look at Bellamy’s grim face told him he knew that too.  
  
One of the Ice Nation’s scouts yelled something across the meadow, and the man that seemed in charge of the _Fayakru_ warriors yelled back.  
  
“The _Azgedakru_ say they own us, that we belong to the queen,” Octavia translated along softly, and then her voice caught and she sounded excited as she said, “The _Fayakru_ disagree- they say we have their protection.”  
  
“Thank God,” Bellamy said, letting out a breath of relief. But their hopes were soon quashed as the Ice Nation talked quietly amongst themselves and seemed not to accept this. The lead scout let out a roar and started towards them, the others falling in behind him.  
  
Only two fell to the arrows, their armour holding fast against the barrage that the _Fayakru_ sent their way.  
  
“Run!” Bellamy yelled, grabbing Octavia and shoving her towards the woods, then doing the same with Clarke, who wheeled off-balance for a moment before she started running, following them across the meadow. She looked around for Lia, but she seemed lost in the skirmish- or perhaps she had slipped into the tall grass like a ghost.  
  
They hit the trees like the devil was after them, but no one chased them. Clarke caught the edge of a tree trunk, breathing hard. She looked at the Blakes and Octavia shrugged, peering back the way they’d come to make sure they were safe. They could hear the metal clanging of swords.  
  
Then Bellamy staggered suddenly and fell to his knees, gasping, eyes huge, his hand clutching his chest.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Octavia asked sharply.  
  
Clarke hurried over to Bellamy and dropped down next to him, putting her fingers on his neck and feeling for his pulse. It was more erratic than she’d ever felt it, seeming to skip several beats before plunging back into an irregular rhythm, first slow and weak, then so strong and fast that she thought the blood vessel would burst out of his neck.  
  
“The Red,” she said quickly, then realised where it was- with the horses, in the saddlebags. Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she turned back to Bellamy and put her hands on his shoulders, trying to catch his eyes as he continued to heave and gasp. “Take deep breaths!” she urged him. “Bellamy- look at me!” She watched him drag his eyes up to meet hers as she demonstrated the necessary technique, showing him how to draw in deeply through his nose, then exhale slowly through his mouth. He managed for a short time, but then seemed unable to catch his breath and reverted to gulping for air.  
  
Clarke grabbed Octavia’s arm and hauled her over, shoving her down to the ground beside her brother. “You have to calm him down,” she said urgently, and watched as Octavia put her hands on Bellamy’s shoulders as Clarke had just done. His skin was growing paler by the second as his eyes darted between the two women, cloudy and panicked. His grip on his chest was tight and he looked like he was in terrible pain.  
  
“Okay, Bell, come on now, you need to breathe slowly like she said, right? In… and out… come on, in… and out… you’ve got to do this Bell, come on, just focus.”  
  
Clarke looked at Bellamy helplessly, and then back toward the tents. She made a snap decision and turned, running back toward the camp, knowing she had to get to those horses. She heard Bellamy yell out his protest behind her, but Octavia must have wrenched his attention back to her, because no one’s footsteps pounded after her. She ran as fast as she could, aware that she was headed straight for a battle, but there was no choice- if Bellamy’s heart stopped now, she might never get it going again.  
  
When she got near the tents she dropped down and hid herself in the grass, wriggling closer and closer on her stomach toward where the horses were. It was only when she had almost reached them that she realised all had suddenly gone quiet- no more sounds of fighting. Slowly and cautiously she raised her head, just enough to see above the grass, to see who was dead and who was alive.  
  
The Ice Nation’s scouts had all been killed save one, the leader, and he was face down on the ground, being hog-tied. Lia sat nearby, her hands bound tightly, but she seemed unconcerned. She noticed Clarke and her eyes darted right to the saddlebag that held the Red, as she seemed to know just what Clarke was doing.  
  
Clarke quickly got to the horse and grabbed the whole bag, ripping it from the horse and slinging it over her shoulder. The glass vials inside made a soft clinking sound that drew the attention of one of the _Fayakru_ warriors, and she whipped her head in Clarke’s direction, advancing on her.  
  
Turning and running was her only option, but as fast as her legs could carry her was still not fast enough, and the woman caught up to her easily, grabbing her roughly and hauling her back to the tents.  
  
“Wait, please, no, my… my friend- he’s dying!” she cried, trying to pull away from the vice grip of the woman’s hand. “ _Please,_ I have to help him!”  
  
The woman spoke to her harshly in Trigedasleng, taking her over to where Lia was and starting to tie her up.  
  
_"Please!"_ Clarke said again, her heart sinking as she looked back toward the treeline, imagining Octavia was going to come running through at any moment, screaming that Bellamy was dead. She struggled, protested, but the warrior ignored her, just tying the ropes tight around her wrists and ankles. She gave Clarke a rough jerk as she struggled, trying to quiet her.  
  
_“Em pleni!”_ a voice rang out over the camp, and everyone stilled.  
  
Out of the largest tent in the camp, a girl very close to Clarke's own age had emerged, looking around the camp for a moment until her eyes finally settled onto Clarke. Her skin was the colour of rich milk chocolate, her nose was wide at the base, her chin proud, cheeks rounded under eyes that were as dark as Bellamy’s. Her hair was long and springy, the strands tightly coiled, though part of it had been somewhat tamed into braids that were swept back from her face by a wide band of cloth. Her large, full lips were slightly pursed as she regarded Clarke with a cool, steady gaze.  
  
Only it wasn’t the young woman’s physical appearance that made Clarke’s breath catch, but the decorations- her eyes were painted all the way around with black kohl, and three stripes, like tear tracks, curved down along both of her cheeks, tapering into points just above her jaw. Between her eyebrows, just above where the bridge of her nose began, sat a small, circular ornament, like a tiny gear or a cog, made of brushed gold.  
  
“Welcome, Clarke of the Sky People,” the girl said, and her voice- not the pitch, but the way she spoke, the imposing tone- was as much like Lexa’s as her makeup and jewelry. To her warriors she added firmly in Trigedasleng, _“Breik em au.”_ Right away, Clarke was released.  
  
_“Sha, Heda,”_ all the warriors murmured, bowing respectfully to the girl.  
  
Suddenly, Clarke realised that she was looking at the next Commander of the Twelve Clans.


	53. 53- Octavia

She was kneeling in the dirt, her hands on Bellamy’s shoulders. She locked her blue eyes- calm and composed- onto his brown ones- chaotic and frantic- as she said to him, “Okay, Bell, come on now, you need to breathe slowly like she said, right? In… and out… come on, in… and out… you’ve got to do this Bell, come on, just focus.”  
  
She watched the colour draining from his face, but then it started to creep back just a little as he seemed to gather himself, seemed to follow her instruction, breathing deeply, slowly.  
  
Then Clarke suddenly took off running and he tried to jump to his feet, to go after her, his breaths erratic again. Octavia shoved down on his shoulders and exclaimed, _“Stop!_ Just _breathe,_ Bell… come on, _breathe.”_  
  
He stayed on his knees but his eyes followed Clarke’s path as he drew in hungry breaths, fast again, so she grabbed his head in her hands and pulled him close to her, pressing her forehead into his and breathing with him, in and out, slowly, over and over. Once he fell into the routine with her, she watched the life flood back into him, chasing away the blue that had started to invade the skin around his lips. She was relieved but she didn’t show it, didn’t dare relax enough to break him out of the pattern.  
  
With what seemed like great effort, he dragged his eyes away from the forest’s edge and met her gaze, and she smiled at him. “Hey, big brother,” she said softly, anchoring her fingers in his hair and squeezing the back of his head lightly before she let go of him. She watched him carefully, making sure he was still breathing properly, but he seemed to hold the pattern now. Still, she kept her eye on him, to ensure he wasn’t going to collapse again.  
  
Reaching out a hand, she laid her palm over his chest and felt the pounding in his heart, the irregular beat, and she thought it was a lot worse than the last time she'd felt or heard it. She swallowed her fear, urging him to lie down, to just keep breathing. He did as she asked and she sat next to him, grabbing his hand, but his eyes still flickered to the forest’s edge, looking for Clarke. It made her nervous, the stress he was obviously feeling, what it might do to his heart, how weak he might be because of the drug.  
  
“I’m scared, Bell,” she whispered, her voice breaking a little on his name.  
  
Suddenly his attention was on her completely and he brought up his other hand, covering hers with it and squeezing tightly. “Hey, shshsh,” he said gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
“Don’t leave me,” she said, and again her voice cracked and then she was crying, burying her head in his chest. Bellamy leaned up on his elbow and then pushed himself into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around her properly. She knew he should probably stay lying down, but selfishly she accepted his hug, letting her tears fall silently into his shoulder for a minute before she calmed down, pulling back to look at him. He seemed better now, calmer, his breathing evening out into a more normal pattern. His skin was clammy, but it had colour again.  
  
“I can’t lose you,” she told him, shaking her head. “You can’t die. Not you too.”  
  
She watched his face fall a little and he nodded his head, pulling her close again. His hand curled around the back of her head and he stroked her hair gently. She felt him hesitate, trying to find the right words. Finally he settled for, “I’m so sorry, O… I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”  
  
Octavia pulled back, shaking her head. “I don’t blame you,” she said immediately, casting her eyes down into the dirt, narrowing them in anger, and feeling her jaw tighten. “I blame _her.”_  
  
“Who?” Bellamy asked, seeming hesitant, tentative. “Lia? Or Clarke?”  
  
She looked up at him, saw the concern in his eyes, the uncertainty, but she told him the truth. “Both.” He drew in a breath, nodded. He didn’t seem disappointed by her answer, or upset, but just like he expected it. She allowed a small bit of flexibility into her voice as she said, “Mostly Lia.”  
  
“It’s okay, you know,” he assured her. “It’s okay if you’re angry at Clarke.”  
  
“Aren’t _you_ angry at her anymore?” she asked him frankly. It hadn’t been lost on her, his shift these last few days, the way he looked at Clarke when he thought no one noticed. But Octavia noticed everything about her brother.  
  
He let out a sigh and said, “No. Not anymore. It’s too much, O… too much to carry. Now that we have her back… and after everything that’s happened… I just had to let it go.”  
  
She could understand that, even if she didn’t feel it herself, and she nodded her head. She was glad, if it meant his burden was a little lighter. “Are you okay?” she asked.  
  
“Mostly,” Bellamy said hesitantly. “My chest still feels a bit strange.”  
  
“Strange how?” she asked, her own heart pounding a little.  
  
“Just… tight,” he answered. “Fluttery. It’s hard to explain.”  
  
Octavia stood up and craned her neck to see through the trees and back towards the meadow. “It’s quiet,” she remarked, realising for the first time that the sounds of the battle had faded. “She should be back by now.”  
  
She saw the alarm spring into Bellamy’s eyes as he got hastily to his feet, shrugging off her efforts to force him down again. She trailed just behind him as he charged back towards camp, thinking about how much she missed her sword as they stepped together out of the treeline.  
  
Just ahead, in the meadow, they could see Clarke coming toward them, trailed by two of the _Fayakru_ warriors. Octavia watched as Bellamy’s body relaxed in relief as he saw Clarke was okay, and then she saw the tension flood back into him just as quickly as he saw the escort.  
  
Clarke’s expression was grim as she reached them. She angled her body so her guards couldn’t see what she was holding and then showed them the saddlebag full of Red, the injector laying on top.  
  
Bellamy drew in a sharp breath and turned his eyes away from the cache of Red, pulling in deep breaths, and Clarke quickly covered them up, her face full of apology. “Stand behind us so they don’t see,” she told Octavia quietly.  
  
Trying to be casual, Octavia circled around and stood so her body was blocking the warriors’ view. She took the opportunity to look at them- two burly men whose tattoos, makeup, and dress were subtly different from that of _Trikru_ warriors. It was interesting, but she didn’t have long to muse about it, as she heard Bellamy’s soft sigh of relief from behind her and knew Clarke was giving him the Red.  
  
The sound made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck; she hated seeing Bellamy as an addict, hated seeing what the drug did to him, the control it had over him, his cravings for it. He tried to hide it from her, but she had seen how his eyes went glassy and far away whenever he was given a dose, the languid expression that washed over his features. There was so much he thought he was protecting her from, but she saw everything, and she couldn’t stand any of it. The sooner they weaned him off it, detoxed him, the better.  
  
Luckily, Clarke’s escort didn’t seem too interested in what was going on behind Octavia’s back, and as soon as Bellamy had recovered from the initial rush of the drug, he was able to get to his feet and follow them back to the tents.  
  
Clarke took her time, quietly filling them in on everything she’d seen.  
  
“So Lia was right,” Bellamy whispered. “They _have_ chosen a new commander.”  
  
“Yeah,” Octavia said grimly. “But the question is, whose side is she on?”  
  
“She knew my name,” Clarke offered, her brow furrowed in uncertainty. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”  
  
“They did tell the Ice Nation we had their protection,” Octavia pointed out.  
  
“Just be careful,” Bellamy warned them both. “We don’t know what’s going to happen, so just stay alert in case we have to run.”  
  
Octavia couldn’t help but feel a bit smug as she saw Lia sitting in the middle of the camp with the Ice Nation prisoner, her hands bound tightly in thick rope. Maybe she wasn’t as invulnerable as she liked to act.  
  
When Octavia saw the new commander for the first time, she was surprised at the makeup and forehead decoration, identical to Lexa’s, but she imagined that it was some kind of special markings fit only for the _Heda,_ whoever that might be. She made a mental note to ask Lincoln about it, then felt her whole body freeze as she realised her mistake, that she would never get to ask him anything again. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten, even for a moment, that he was gone. She drew in a sharp breath, trying to steady her emotions so she wouldn't break down in the middle of this camp.  
  
She felt Bellamy’s hand touch her shoulder, looked at him and saw the concern in his eyes. But luckily, before she was forced to explain, the commander spoke to them, saying, “Welcome, Bellamy and Octavia of the Sky People. The name my mother gave me is _Eema kom Fayakru,_ but I am now also _Heda kom Kongeda._ Please help yourselves to food and drink. Clarke and I have much to discuss.”  
  
For a moment there was a long silence that grew somewhat uncomfortable as it stretched out, and then Clarke seemed to recover her senses as she said, “Thank you, Commander.”  
  
“Come,” she said to Clarke, turning and disappearing into her tent. Clarke started to follow, but Bellamy reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her.  
  
“I don’t like this,” he said under his breath, very quietly.  
  
“I don’t like it either, but we don’t have a choice,” Clarke answered him, delicately extracting her arm from his grip. Bellamy seemed to want to argue further, but he just gritted his teeth and shook his head. Octavia touched his shoulder and a gave him a look that showed she agreed with him, and he nodded to her.  
  
Octavia thought of Lexa, about how she’d influenced Clarke enough that she let a bomb drop on tonDC, and about Elody, how her sway had been so strong that Clarke had been the one to kill Lexa. What if she and Bellamy had never come to the Ice Nation? After all those weeks of her being away, might their first glimpse of Clarke have been when she was presented to them as _Wanheda kom Kongeda?_  
  
She knew there was no way to know the answer to that question, but still, the thought alone disturbed her. As she watched Clarke give her brother a tight smile, turn her back on them, and walk into Eema’s tent, she couldn’t help but wonder: what effect would this new commander have?


	54. 54- Clarke

Stepping into Eema’s tent felt like stepping back in time. Some of the details were different, but overall it resembled Lexa’s tent quite a lot, complete with a dais and throne. But where Lexa’s throne had been made of driftwood, this one was made of dark, sharp stone that glinted in the sunlight filtering through the burlap walls of the tent. Obsidian, Clarke belatedly realised, interwoven with ribbons of cloth in bursts of red, orange, and yellow.  
  
Eema followed her gaze and said, “The _Fayakru_ lands have been on fire for several generations, under the earth,” she said. “The fire began even before the Dark Times, and that place will still be burning for centuries to come. We have learned to use it to our advantage.”  
  
“Was Lexa’s throne made of wood because she was _Trikru?”_ Clarke asked, feeling safe to voice a question in light of Eema’s approachable tone. She was still on edge, though; Eema knew her name, and surely she must have also known that Clarke was the one who killed Lexa?  
  
“That’s right,” Eema said with a nod, taking a seat on the throne and gesturing that Clarke should sit in one of the smaller chairs on the ground.  
  
She did as invited and said, “I guess I just assumed that the _Heda_ would always be _Trikru.”_  
  
“Lexa was the first _Heda kom Kongeda,”_ Eema explained, pulling a knife from her belt and setting its tip into the arm of her throne, spinning it slowly under her palm. The engravings caught Clarke’s eye. “She is the one who united the twelve clans. But when a new _Heda_ is chosen, she may come from any clan that is part of the coalition.”  
  
Clarke was listening, but she was also very distracted by that knife- _Lexa’s_ knife. How was that possible? She knew Lexa always had that knife with her, would have had it until the moment she was captured. When Amat took Lexa’s body from Polis, had she also found the knife? How else could the new commander have it now?  
  
Again, Eema guessed at Clarke’s thoughts and she explained, “I liked Lexa’s knife so much that I had another crafted in its image. Unfortunately, the first one was lost after she was killed.”  
  
Clarke swallowed a little, waiting for the other shoe to drop on _that_ comment, but Eema said nothing more, just gazed at her. There was something unsettling about her expression, and Clarke couldn’t quite put her finger on why- it must have been because despite how different the girl’s physical characteristics were, it was like Lexa herself was staring back at her through Eema’s eyes. Clarke wondered how these girls were chosen and trained, how someone so young could give off such an air of grace and wisdom. Eema couldn’t have been more than eighteen, but her eyes appeared to belong to someone much older.  
  
“So… you met Lexa?” Clarke asked cautiously, trying to make sense of it. “You saw her knife, before…?” She trailed off, unable to finish.  
  
“Clarke of the Sky People,” Eema declared, ignoring her question. “I would like to offer you my protection, my alliance, in the war that is coming. We are on our way to rendezvous with the armies of the other clans. We march on the Ice Nation by week’s end.”  
  
Drawing in a deep breath, Clarke absorbed all that before she said, very carefully, “Forgive me for asking, Commander, but do you know how Lexa died?”  
  
Eema stared at her for a long moment, until Clarke wanted to squirm beneath her gaze, but she remained still and just looked back. Slowly, a smile spread across the new commander’s face, and she finally looked her age. Setting the knife down on the arm of her throne, she stood up, stepped off the dais, and walked right up to Clarke. Quickly Clarke got to her feet as well, and she resisted the urge to back away as Eema seemed to stare her down for a moment.  
  
Finally, simply, the commander said, “I know what you have done.” Her tone was unreadable.  
  
It wasn’t unexpected, but it was disappointing. They lost eye contact as Clarke’s gaze slid to the floor, but she was startled when Eema reached up and touched her face, gently tilting her chin back up. “Remember, Clarke,” she said softly, her voice tender. “Victory stands on the back of sacrifice.”  
  
Clarke blinked in surprise, but she nodded her head. “Lexa told me that.”  
  
“I know,” Eema answered. “And she was right. Lexa was afraid of the Ice Nation… they took someone very precious to her when she was still quite young, as you well know. Losing _you_ to the frozen lands only wounded her further.” She seemed deeply troubled as she continued, “I do not believe she would have been able to bring herself to march upon the queen. But _I_ can.”  
  
“Wait, how do you know all that?” Clarke asked her, furrowing her brow in confusion. She and Lexa had been standing outside tonDC when she’d given her that line about sacrifice- alone, away from everyone. Who had overheard? Who would have thought to tell this girl now? Just how thoroughly were commanders filled in on the lives of their predecessors?  
  
Again, Eema ignored her question. Instead she said, “Do you accept my proposal of alliance, or not?”  
  
Of course Clarke wanted to accept, wanted her people protected, but she couldn’t shake the hesitation she felt. Her wounds were still fresh from the betrayal that Elody’s own offer of alliance had brought- not to mention Lexa’s before her, and Mount Weather before _that._ She was scared to make the wrong choice again. So she answered truthfully, “I don’t know.”  
  
Eema let out a irritated breath, shaking her head. “Why must you always allow emotion to cloud your judgment?” she asked impatiently. “You _know_ this is the right course.”  
  
“No, I don’t,” Clarke protested. “I’ve been burned over and over by treaties and offers of peace- I’m not going to make the same mistakes again.”  
  
“You are making an even bigger mistake by refusing my offer now,” Eema said, her frustration only seeming to grow. “Your clan is small, your people few, yet your technology is formidable. This alliance will be good for _both_ of us, Clarke.” She shook her head, clearly exasperated. “You are being offered a gift when what you _should_ be given is death, and still you hesitate. Do not let _stubbornness_  dictate your decisions now."  
  
"That's not fair!” Clarke snapped, unable to stay respectful in the face of all those accusations, the blame. “I'm just trying to do the right thing, okay?"  
  
Eema shook her head. "Even when someone offers you their protection, ignores the protests of her own people to _help_ you when you have caused only destruction, _still_ you refuse what is offered. For once in your life, will you show gratitude for what is being handed to you and not fight against it at _every turn?”_  
  
“No, wait a minute," Clarke exclaimed. "I don't _want_ to fight! I never did. _I_ didn't do this.  _I_ wasn’t the one who decided to leave all those people to die in tonDC! _I_ wasn’t the one who _broke_ the alliance to make a deal with the enemy. And _I_ wasn’t the one who turned my back on someone I supposedly loved!”  
  
“Do you think that’s what I _wanted?!”_ Eema growled, equally impassioned. “Do you think I would have left you there if I had any other _choice?_ You never see the bigger picture, Clarke! You cannot make decisions with your heart and expect it not to be broken. You can be a good leader or a good lover, _not_ both! _I_ didn’t want to leave you behind, but _you_ were not the reason I did it. The duty to protect my people must _always_ come first, or how could I call myself their commander? Who I _care_ for, who I _love,_ is not the point. And you _know_ it.”  
  
They both stood there, seething, glaring at each other, eyes filled with fury, and then abruptly and in unison they both froze, as though each of them, at the same time, registered everything that had just been said.  
  
Eema was the first to back away, swallowing hard, moving to her throne and dropping herself into the seat. She rubbed her fingers against her temples and then from next to the throne she pulled out a clear bottle of sky blue liquid. The same decoration that rested between her brows was also inlaid into the bottle. She poured herself a tiny sip and drank it down quickly.  
  
“I am not Lexa,” she snapped, her voice strained. “Do not distract me.”  
  
“What…?” Clarke trailed off, not even sure what question she wanted to ask, just trying to wrap her head around everything had just happened.  
  
“The elders have warned me against commiserating with people who were important to Lexa,” Eema said finally. “I should heed their words more carefully.”  
  
Clarke reminded herself that she did not believe in this: reincarnation. That was part of _their_ belief structure- it had to be a ritual, nothing more. When Eema had been chosen as commander, no doubt Lexa’s former advisors had come together to teach her, to tell her what had happened in Lexa’s life, the people who had meant a lot to her, everything that mattered. That had to be why Eema seemed so mature, why Lexa had seemed that way before her, despite both girls’ young age and limited life experience. They’d had excellent teachers, that’s all. It wasn’t because of _reincarnation._ That wasn’t a real thing.  
  
“I can’t agree to an alliance right now,” Clarke said, steering the conversation back onto solid ground. “But I’ll consider your offer gratefully. That’s all I can do.”  
  
“You have until sunrise,” Eema answered, seeming thankful for the change in subject. “Until then you have the protection of this camp, but at first light you must give me your answer. If you agree to this alliance, we will join forces and march against the Ice Nation together with the other clans. If you refuse, you will have no protection from me. Do you agree to these terms?”  
  
“I do,” Clarke said, nodding her head in respect before turning for the exit.  
  
“There is one more thing,” Eema spoke up, stopping her. “I have noticed that Bellamy is a Reaper. I suggest you keep that information private from my guards, as they will not understand. They do not know what you can do.” She eyed Clarke for a moment before she asked, “Why have you not turned him back into a man, as you did for Lincoln?”  
  
“I will,” Clarke assured her. “I just need time and somewhere safe to rest and help him through the detox. I’m managing him with small doses right now… it’s why he’s lucid. He’s not dangerous, I promise.”  
  
“Very well,” Eema said with a slight incline of her head. “But you must keep him under control while he is in this camp. Should my warriors discover what he is, I will not be able to stop them from destroying him.”  
  
“I understand, Commander,” Clarke said. Again she turned to go, but this time it was her own thoughts that stopped her and she couldn’t help but ask, “Will there be any consequences for what happened to Lexa?”  
  
The silence that followed made Clarke’s stomach churn.  
  
“Lexa’s favour fell after Mount Weather,” Eema informed her, finally. “She was seen as weak for abandoning the war effort, especially after the _Wanheda-”_ she said that word scathingly “- defeated the mountain almost singlehandedly.”  
  
Clarke swallowed a little, and then said delicately, “You didn’t answer my question. Even out of favour, she was still the commander. And I still killed her.”  
  
There was another long pause that pulled at Clarke's already frayed nerves.  
  
“Come here,” Eema said finally. Clarke hesitated only a moment before stepping up onto the dais. Eema stood as well, and she reached up, touching Clarke’s cheek with her fingertips and staring into her eyes. Clarke was careful to make her expression neutral and respectful as she met the commander’s gaze. Eema seemed hesitant about something, uncertain. They stood so close together that Clarke could feel her breath, and she couldn’t help but be drawn into her gaze, that presence she had, strangely wise. When her hand dropped from her face, she missed it.  
  
“Are you sorry?” Eema asked softly, and there was such an edge of vulnerability there that for a moment Clarke didn’t know what to say.  
  
But she answered her question honestly. Softly she said, “I was so angry, but the moment I…” She trailed off, shaking her head, her eyes filling with tears. “I regretted it,” she whispered, her voice catching a little. “Yes, I’m sorry.”  
  
Eema’s eyes closed for a moment and then lightly her palm slid onto her chest, touching the spot just over her heart, her face tightening a little. She opened her eyes again and looked at Clarke, letting out a sigh, and its tone was almost one of longing. Again her hand came up, her fingertips tracing the curve of Clarke’s cheek. Clarke felt her heart hammering in her chest, not sure what was going to happen, whether she was going to be punished or not.  
  
Then she saw Eema’s eyes flicker to her lips and she suddenly realised that the girl was not debating whether or not to kill her after all, but whether or not to _kiss_ her. For a moment she was sure she had to be totally crazy, but the look in Eema’s eyes spoke volumes, and Clarke knew she wasn’t misreading her.  
  
Abruptly, Eema dropped her hand and stepped back. “I am _not_ Lexa,” she told her, forcefully. Clarke wondered which one of them she was trying to convince.  
  
“I have no desire to hold resentment against you,” Eema continued, shaking her head as if trying to clear it. “I cannot speak for all of my people, for those who may still be loyal to Lexa, but you will not find punishment at my hand.” She still looked uncertain, uncomfortable, but then a slow smile spread over her face as her true personality seemed to shine through. “Perhaps in death, our feelings soften… I find that I wish you nothing but goodness, Clarke. Truly. Consider my offer carefully, and whatever decision you make, I will respect it.”  
  
Part of Clarke rejoiced, but the remorse and shame she felt for murdering Lexa- for being _manipulated_ into murdering Lexa- remained like a knife in her heart. She stepped off the dais, starting towards the exit of the tent, but again she found herself turning back. Softly, wretchedly, she said, “But I’m guilty.”  
  
Eema gave her a long look, and then she nodded. “You are,” she agreed, with a gentle smile. “And what you did to Lexa will haunt you until the end of your days. We both know that is punishment enough.”  
  
Those words evoked memories of Finn, the way she’d slid that knife into his heart, how badly it had burdened her, and she knew it was true.  
  
Letting out a breath, Eema continued, “War brings much in the way of heartache, Clarke, and holding grudges from another life will only divide my energy. I _do_ wish you goodness- and peace.”  
  
Clarke was still trying not to believe in reincarnation when she said, “Thank you, Commander.”  
  
Eema nodded and sat down on her throne again, picking up the pretty gilded knife and twirling it between the fingers of both hands, giving it a thoughtful look. Then she frowned, letting out a sigh, almost wistful, as she said, “Lexa’s fight is over.” Gritting her teeth a little, she looked into Clarke’s eyes and added, “I fear mine is just beginning.”


	55. 55- Bellamy

He couldn’t relax until Clarke had returned from the commander’s tent, and he eyed her with concern. He'd overheard some of the raised voices through the flimsy fabric walls, though he hadn’t really been able to make sense of most of it.  
  
“Wait here,” he told Octavia, then he hurried to Clarke’s side and fell into step beside her as she made a beeline as far away from that tent as she could get without actually leaving the camp. “Are you okay?” he asked her softly.  
  
Clarke shook her head, frowning a little, seeming almost confused. “I don’t know.”  
  
Bellamy took her arm gently and slowed her down to a stop so he could look into her eyes. “What happened? I heard yelling.”  
  
She shook her head a little and said, “She wants an alliance.”  
  
He raised his eyebrows and couldn’t help the wry smile that briefly spread across his lips. “I know I’m not a politician like you, but I didn’t think shouting was part of offering an alliance.”  
  
But Clarke didn’t smile- she just looked disturbed, deeply. Shaking her head again she said, “This is going to sound crazy, but…” Trailing off, she fell silent.  
  
“But?” he prompted, frowning in concern.  
  
She seemed to debate a moment longer about what she was going to say before she finally looked at him and said, “Lexa once told me that the way Grounders choose their leaders is by reincarnation.”  
  
“Okay,” Bellamy said finally, when Clarke offered nothing more. “So what are you saying?” When she hesitated, he ran a hand through his hair and tried to think of how to express his doubt without mocking her, though he hadn’t pegged her as a believer in superstition. “Clarke-”  
  
“I know,” she interrupted sharply, shaking her head. “I know, but you didn’t see what I saw, Bellamy.”  
  
“Okay,” he said gently. “So what did you see?”  
  
Clarke opened and closed her mouth several times before answering, “She knew things… and the way she acted… and looked at me… it was like Lexa’s eyes were staring out of her face.” She shook her head and muttered, “I can’t explain it.”  
  
“But she’s _not_ Lexa,” he reminded her gently. “Lexa’s dead, Clarke, you know that.” He remembered how, after Finn died, she had lost it a little, and he was concerned that something similar might be happening now. Taking her hand gently in his, he pulled Clarke in close to him and wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin. “We’ll figure it out,” he promised her softly.  
  
She relaxed into his arms for a moment, but then her nervous energy took over and she pushed back from him. “I’m telling you, she shouldn’t have known those things,” she insisted. “She shouldn’t have _felt_ that way.”  
  
“Hey,” Bellamy said, taking her upper arms in his hands and giving them a gentle squeeze. He found her eyes and said, “I believe you. Okay? I believe you.”  
  
“No you don’t,” she answered with a frown. “I don’t even believe it myself.”  
  
“Well… I trust you then,” he countered, letting go of her.  
  
She let out a long breath and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. We have until sunrise to make a decision about whether we’ll agree to her alliance or not. She says she’ll respect my decision no matter what it is.”  
  
Bellamy started to speak, then thought better of it as he glanced around the small camp. “We should talk about this in private.”  
  
Leading her back to where he’d left Octavia, his sister jumped up as they approached. “Well?”  
  
“We’ve got a lot to talk about,” he told her. Looking to the guards standing nearby he asked, “Is there somewhere we can sleep for the night?”  
  
One of the warriors nodded. “The Commander has ordered a tent prepared for you,” she said. “Follow me.”  
  
The lodgings they were given were basic but cosy, and three beds had been prepared, simple raised wooden slats covered with straw-filled mattresses and topped with enough furs to be comfortable. Inwardly Bellamy was relieved that they weren’t given separate tents- he really didn’t want either Clarke or Octavia out of his sight.  
  
They were left alone, and almost immediately Octavia was at the flap of the tent, watching the people milling around outside. “Their tattoos are different, did you notice?” she asked. “And their clothes.”  
  
“No, I didn’t notice,” Bellamy admitted- they all just looked like Grounders to him.  
  
“After you left I was talking with Eema’s guards,” Octavia said. “One of them told me their lands aren’t that far from here. They’ve had people disappear into Raven Rock too.” Her voice was filled with distaste as she said the name of that mountain.  
  
Bellamy exchanged a glance with Clarke and then he walked over to Octavia and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze as he looked outside with her. He tried to see the people as she did- not as threats, but as an interesting culture.  
  
“That girl there has coloured thread braided into her hair so it looks like it’s on fire,” she told him, trying to point to a young warrior without being obvious.  
  
Bellamy smiled softly at her. “Well, maybe she can teach you a thing or two,” he said warmly. “Maybe she can get you a new sword."  
  
Octavia seemed to like _that_ idea a lot as she said, "Maybe."  
  
"Hey," Bellamy told her gently, drawing her full attention away from the bustling camp for a moment. "Me and Clarke have to talk about politics… do you want to stay, or do you want to go make friends?”  
  
Octavia smiled wryly at him. “Politics? No thanks, Bell.” Her eyes flickered to Clarke then back to him as she said, not even trying to be quiet, “Make sure she doesn’t mess things up.” Then she walked away.  
  
“She hates me,” Clarke said quietly, as Bellamy turned back toward her.  
  
“No she doesn’t,” he assured her. “But she does speak her mind- always has. Developing a verbal filter wasn’t exactly a priority when the only people she knew were me and our mother.” Secretly he was proud of Octavia- not for insulting Clarke, of course, but for growing up to be such a candid person. He knew it would serve her well, keep her sensible- safe. He didn't really care if she offended people, as long as she stayed alive.  
  
Clarke gave him a brief smile, crossing her arms over her chest. “So what are we going to do about this offer?”  
  
“Well, if you’re looking for my two cents, I vote no,” Bellamy said frankly.  
  
Clarke seemed surprised at his certainty but all she said was, “Why?”  
  
Heaving a long breath, he shrugged and answered, “Because I’m sick of it, Clarke. I liked it better when it was just _us-_ making our own rules, figuring out our place in this world. Ever since we tried to make alliances- and I’m not just talking about the Grounders, I’m talking about Mount Weather, even about Camp Jaha- it’s just made everything harder. I want _our_ people- what’s left of the hundred- to be safe.”  
  
“So do I,” she answered with a long sigh. “But there are less than fifty of _our_ people left, Bellamy… that’s not a society. That’s not even a village. Even if we counted  _all_ our people, there are still too few to stand alone. We need help.”  
  
He couldn’t argue with that, but he still didn’t like the idea of allying with this new commander- they didn’t even know her, and she was already trying to draw them into a war, already playing tricks with Clarke’s mind. He let out a long breath, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Okay, you’re right about that, but look how things turned out with Lexa… not to mention the queen. Now there’s going to be a war, and if we join up with this new commander, how many more of _our_ people are going to die?”  
  
Clarke seemed to hesitate, and he saw the emotions chase themselves across her eyes- fear, uncertainty, grief. Stepping close to her, he tucked his fingers under her chin and raised her face up to meet his gaze. “I just want you and Octavia to be safe,” he said, his voice soft. “We’ve lost so much… I can’t stand the idea of risking even more. I can’t lose you, and Octavia’s already lost Lincoln. When we finally stop running… she’s going to crash, and crash hard. I need to be there to help her through that, but I need _you_ to be there too.” He searched her eyes, wondering if he was conveying just how strongly he meant those words. “I vote no,” he said finally. “I vote we tell her thanks but no thanks, and just go home.”  
  
“And if I decide to accept the alliance?” she asked him.  
  
He let out his breath but he nodded. “Then I’ll support you.”  
  
Finally she smiled, and she stepped a little closer to him, curling her fingers into his palm. He squeezed her hand, returning her smile, but he couldn’t help but be preoccupied with his worry- he didn’t trust Eema, and if she had ulterior motives, then all the good intentions in the world wouldn't help them. And if Clarke had a fatal flaw, it was definitely an overabundance of good intentions. “Look, Clarke," he said gently. "I know you feel guilty about what happened to Lexa, and that you want to make things better. But if what happened to Echo wasn't _my_ fault… then there's no way what happened to Lexa was _your_ fault.”  
  
He saw her frown, open her mouth to protest, but then she fell silent and just shook her head. He could read her easily; he knew what she was thinking, that it was hard for her to cut her losses now, give up on a chance at redemption.  
  
“I know you wish the alliance with the Ice Nation had held because of the medicine they could have given us,” he said gently. “But we both know that sometimes offers of peace are too good to be true. We’ve learned that the hard way more than once, and I don’t want to see that happen again.”  
  
“But the things that we’ve done…” She trailed off, then tried again, “Something has to come out of this, Bellamy. Something good.”  
  
Squeezing her hand, he reminded her softly, “Something good already has.”  
  
Clarke’s eyes met his and a smile sprung to her lips, but then it faded as fast as it had come and she was shaking her head again. “We’ve lost so much though.”  
  
He nodded, understanding her need to be serious and not romantic. Solemnly he said, “There’s no limit on loss, Clarke. We can always lose more. We should quit while we’re ahead… forgive ourselves and start fresh.” Even as he said it he thought of his own sins, his own guilt, and knew it was easier said than done. But then again, when it was _Clarke_ who forgave him, he always believed her. He told her, "If it's forgiveness you need, you  _know_ I'll give that to you. Just... please let me take you home."  
  
She looked into his eyes for a moment and then her brow furrowed as she said, “There is still _you_ to worry about- the faster we detox you, the better. I don’t like how much of that drug you’re having, not when it causes heart damage. That attack you had in the forest earlier could be just the beginning.”  
  
“Well I’ll try not to run unless absolutely necessary,” he assured her, giving her a wry smile, wanting to chase away the fear in her face.  
  
“I’m serious, Bellamy,” she insisted.  
  
His smile only grew as he said, “You always are.” Squeezing her hand again he added, “Look, now that those scouts are off our backs, maybe we can stop somewhere and get it done.” Even as he said it, he felt the dread rise up in his chest- he was scared of detoxing, scared of what it was going to feel like, whether he’d survive it, what he might do to the people he loved. But he tried to push that aside, tried to focus on one problem at a time. “Let’s figure out what we’re going to do about this alliance first, and then we’ll worry about me.”  
  
Clarke seemed reluctant to switch gears back to that bigger problem, but she let out a breath and said, “How can I even make this decision? My Mom and the others from the Ark- they never saw me as their leader. They certainly won’t now, when I’ve been gone for so long.”  
  
“But Lexa did,” Bellamy pointed out. “And Eema does.”  
  
“Yes, but if I’m being asked to make a decision about joining a war or not, that needs to be a decision made by more than one person.”  
  
“The Council,” Bellamy said, nodding slowly. He let out his breath. “Look, maybe you’re right, but they’re not exactly just over the next hill. She wants an answer by morning, right? It’ll take days to get to Camp Jaha and back.”  
  
Clarke hesitated, frowning in thought. Finally she said, “Well, then I’ll give her an answer by morning… I’ll tell her I need to speak to our people. I’ll tell her we’re in no way allying ourselves with the Ice Nation, but that I can’t make the decision to join the war until I speak to my people. If the Council votes to become part of her coalition, then we’ll meet her on the frontlines. But if we vote not to, we’ll stay put.”  
  
“And what _about_ the camp?” Bellamy asked uncertainly, suddenly realising that this was bigger than one decision, or even one war. “After Mount Weather, when the alliance died, they didn’t try to kill us or even make us move, but now that Lexa’s gone, that might change. She was _Trikru,_ we’re on _Trikru_ land, and if we refuse to join the coalition…” He trailed off, leaving that thought unspoken.  
  
“The Ice Nation offered us land,” Clarke said, and she sounded bitter.  
  
“The Ice Nation tortured you and turned me into a Reaper,” he reminded her, bluntly. “Any land they would have given us would have had way too many strings attached to it.”  
  
Clarke seemed unable to argue with that point, so she just nodded her head. “I’ll talk to her, say I need to speak with the Council, and see what she says.”  
  
“And if she refuses? If she insists on a yes or no answer, right now?”  
  
Clarke hesitated only a moment before shaking her head. “If she forces me to give her a definitive answer, then that answer has to be no. I won’t rush into anything.”  
  
“Good,” Bellamy said, the admiration obvious in his voice. He’d known she would make the right choice, given the time and support to do it. She was a good leader. “Hey, it’s going to be okay, you know that right?” he asked her.  
  
She met his eyes and the trepidation there made him cringe inwardly. “How can I know that?” she asked softly. “So much has gone wrong, Bellamy. And so much can _still_ go wrong.”  
  
“I know,” he said gently, wrapping an arm around her. “But we’re going to figure it out, Clarke- together.” She pulled him close, turning her head into his shoulder and letting out a long breath, full of stress. He held her, wishing he could take her tension away. “Too bad we don’t have that hot spring now,” he joked lightly.  
  
He heard her laugh quietly and then she was looking up at him, her blue eyes soft for the first time since she’d left the commander’s tent. “Yeah,” she said tenderly.  
  
Bellamy smiled down at her, and then he leaned in and kissed her because it was clearly what she wanted, what they both wanted. The moment his lips touched hers he felt her body go a soft as her eyes had been, which fluttered closed as she threaded her fingers into his hair and kissed him back. Again, with her tongue came the electric jolt that made their whole bodies tingle in unison.  
  
It was easy, with the beds so close- too easy. He took a step backward and she followed him, keeping their lips together until he felt the edge of the nearest bed against the inside of his knee. He wrapped his arms more tightly around Clarke, turning them both around and lifting her, laying her down on the bed, covering her body with his as he found her lips again.  
  
He trailed kisses across the curve of her jaw and down her neck, hearing her let out a soft sigh. He couldn’t help but smile a little, his hand trailing under her shirt and stroking the soft skin of her stomach, curling his fingertips over her ribs. Clarke shivered and pulled in a breath and he met her gaze, saw the dusky haze in her eyes as she watched him. He stroked the thumb of his free hand over her cheek and then she leaned up, one hand tightening into his curls to pull him closer. Her other hand slid under his shirt as she caught his lips with hers, and she pressed her palm against his chest as she drank him in.  
  
Suddenly she froze, pulling back abruptly. “Stop,” she said sharply.  
  
He stilled his hands, wanting very much to do anything except stop, but he just said, “Okay.”  
  
They were both breathing hard as she frowned. “Your heart is pounding,” she told him, sounding worried. “If running across that field set off an attack, then this could be a lot worse.”  
  
He seriously debated taking that risk anyway, but finally he gave up and rolled over onto his back, wrapping an arm around her and tucking against his side. She laid her head on his chest and continued listening to his heartbeat. Placing her hand on his forearm, she tapped her fingertips against his skin in the tempo of his heartbeat. It was so erratic that it made him nervous, so he closed his fingers around hers, stilling the rhythm. She met his gaze and said, “Sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay,” he said gently. He raised his hand to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear as he reached down, pulling one of the furs up over them. “This is good too.”  
  
Rubbing a hand gently and slowly over Clarke’s back, he felt her gradually relax, and then he watched as her eyelids grew heavy, and then finally fluttered closed. Her breathing evened out into sleep and Bellamy let out a long breath of his own, wishing he could join her. But as much as he tried, he just couldn’t unwind.


	56. 56- Octavia

She wished she had a mirror so she could admire her new hair- she had sought out the warrior she’d pointed out to Bellamy earlier, and the girl, Sena, had seemed as curious about Octavia as she was about her.  
  
“What clan are you?” she’d asked, and the question had made Octavia cringe.  
  
“I was _Trikru,”_ she said softly. “But I’m not anymore.”  
  
Sena frowned thoughtfully for a moment before she said, “To be banished from your _kru,_ you must have done something very serious.”  
  
Octavia let out a heavy breath, leaning her head back to look at the sky. “It’s a long story… the short version is I chose to save my brother instead of retreating with the rest of the _Trikru_ to leave him to die after Lexa abandoned everyone.”  
  
Clearly sensing the venom in her voice, Sena was silent for a long moment. Finally she said, delicately, “And your parents?”  
  
“My mother’s dead,” Octavia answered. “And I never knew my father.” She remembered how she’d asked Bellamy about him, when things had still been relatively calm. She’d never really been curious about him before that moment, but her brother’s reaction had intrigued her. Maybe when all of this was over… if all of this would  _ever_  be over… she’d ask again.  
  
Sena had showed her how to weave the coloured threads through her braids, matching the tones of the strands to compliment Octavia’s hair colour. When it was finished, it gave the impression that Octavia’s hair was laced with fire, and a few of the strands even seemed to shine like gold, catching the sunlight. When it was finished Octavia grinned as she pulled her braids up in front of her eyes, admiring the look.  
  
Giggling softly, Sena said, “Now you look like a mixture of _Trikru_ and _Fayakru.”_  
  
Octavia couldn’t help but smile a little. She wondered if, maybe by the end of her life, she would wear something from each of the Grounder clans. The idea had a strange appeal.  
  
She thanked Sena and headed back to the tent they’d been given, admiring her hair in every reflective surface she saw between the two places.  
  
When she stepped into the tent, she stopped short. Her brother was laying down on one of the beds, and Clarke was curled into him, her head on his chest, their hands intertwined over his stomach. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much, seeing them that way, but it did. For a moment she didn’t know what to do.  
  
“Hey, nice hair,” Bellamy said wryly, and she realised he wasn’t asleep at all. She felt her face flame red, but she wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment, anger, or something else. All she knew was her emotions were churning and she felt like running, like punching something, like screaming.  
  
“O?” This time she heard the concern in Bellamy's voice. He extracted himself from Clarke, waking her up, but he didn't seem to notice as he approached Octavia with a frown on his face, putting a hand on the back of her neck.  
  
Octavia glared at Clarke as she got up hastily; her eyes darted between the two of them with obvious discomfort.  
  
“Sleep well?” Octavia snapped, and she couldn’t help the venom that dripped into her voice.  
  
Clarke seemed startled, then hurt, and her eyes flickered to Bellamy as she said, “I’ll go.”  
  
“No, it’s fine… stay,” Bellamy protested.  
  
“No, it’s not,” Octavia countered. “Go.”  
  
“I’m going,” Clarke said gently to Bellamy. “It’s okay.” She glanced once at Octavia but wisely said nothing before leaving them alone in the tent.  
  
Bellamy seemed too worried to be annoyed. “O,” he said gently, squeezing the back of her neck. She shrugged her shoulder away from him, walking past him and sitting down on one of the other beds, crossing her arms over her chest. She felt his eyes on her, felt him just watching her as she fumed. Finally he walked around and sat on the bed across from hers, so he was facing her. Their knees could have touched, but he made sure they didn’t. “What’s wrong?” he asked uncertainly.  
  
Octavia ratcheted her eyes up to meet his and she felt her lip curl back in anger. “You and _Clarke?”_  
  
She watched him cringe, shifting uncomfortably, before he said quietly, “Yeah.”  
  
It was hard for her to work out everything she was feeling- there were so many emotions battling in her chest that it felt totally overwhelming. But she was as surprised as Bellamy when she dropped her head into her hands and cried.  
  
Obviously alarmed, he got hastily to his feet and sat down next to her, pulling her into his arms. She tried to push away from him but he knew she wasn’t serious so he kept his arms around her, just holding her. “Is it that bad?” he asked finally. He sounded hurt.  
  
_“No,”_ she snarled, sniffling against his chest. “Yes! I don’t _know!”_ She felt so hurt, so jealous and angry, so devastated, but she couldn't figure out why.  
  
“O,” he said softly, pulling back just a little so he could look at her. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“I don’t _know,_ okay?” she yelled.  
  
He let out his breath, but he sounded more sympathetic than irritated; it wasn’t the first time she had cried in his arms with no explanation for why she was doing it. Between the ages of twelve and fourteen, it had been a weekly occurrence.  
  
Softly he stroked her hair, trying to calm her, but she swatted his hands away and pushed back from his chest; this time he knew she was serious so he let her go, watched her as she stood and paced around the tent before sitting down across from him again. She could feel that there were still tears on her cheeks, but she wasn’t actually crying anymore. Reluctantly she met his eyes, and she hated the vulnerability there, the gentleness, as he looked back at her.  
  
“What about me?” she whispered, hating herself for asking the question.  
  
His expression softened even more as he said tenderly, “Octavia... you know no one can ever replace you.”  
  
She pushed to her feet and charged around the tent for a minute before spinning back to him, glaring. She still felt tumultuous, like her brain and her heart and her stomach were all pulling in different directions. “I hit him, Bell,” she exclaimed suddenly, not even knowing she was going to say it until the words left her lips. As soon as she said them she was crying again, and this time the tears were hot and thick, cascading down her cheeks.  
  
Bellamy seemed totally bewildered as he got to his feet and wrapped her up in his arms. She clung to him, crying into his shoulder, holding tightly to his back.  
  
“What are you talking about?” he asked gently.  
  
“I hit him,” she said again, her voice shaking dangerously. “I hit him and I called him a coward. I can’t stop thinking about the look on his face…”  
  
“Wait a minute, are you talking about Lincoln?” Bellamy asked, pulling back from her and cupping her face in his hands as she nodded her head wretchedly. She watched his face fall and he said gently, “O… don’t do that.”  
  
“I can’t stop,” she said again. She had been replaying hers and Lincoln’s relationship over and over in her mind every day since he'd died, and until now, she hadn’t even realised how much guilt she felt for that moment. That one bad memory seemed to overshadow all the good ones now that Lincoln wasn’t here to remind her how much he loved her, and seeing Bellamy and Clarke tangled up in each other's arms, she only felt his loss more keenly.  
  
  
  
_When she’d found him crouched over that man in the woods outside tonDC, tying him with rope, clearly planning to take him back to Mount Weather and exchange him for Red, she’d been disgusted. She’d been repulsed and sickened to see a man she’d thought of as so strong and brave, now reduced to a revolting addict, scavenging on other people to satisfy his own awful desires._  
  
_Drawing her sword, yelling at him, she’d shoved him away. He’d begged her, told her she didn’t understand, that he couldn’t fight the cravings- that they were too much. Octavia hadn’t had any sympathy for him, just anger and revulsion._  
  
_The look on his face when he’d seen that disgust in her eyes, now played back a thousand times over in her mind, was enough to break her heart._  
  
_And then she’d hit him, punched him across the face. She’d hit him and she’d yelled at him, told him to crawl away and die alone like a coward if he wasn’t strong enough to go with her, to fight it. She had been cruel, and now she couldn’t stop thinking about it, about the naked anguish in his eyes, the tears that had built up behind his brown gaze- the shame he’d felt that she'd seen him like that._  
  
_And she couldn’t escape the guilt she now felt for what she’d done, making him feel such shame, hurting him both physically and emotionally, just for the crime of being under the control of something horrible- something that had been done_ to _him, not something he’d chosen._  
  
  
  
Bellamy’s hand on her cheek drew her back to the present and she was still crying. She looked at him, feeling guilty for what she’d done to Lincoln, guilty even for how she’d just blown up at Bellamy over Clarke. She didn’t even care if he and Clarke were together, she was just upset because it reminded her of what she didn’t have.  
  
“Why couldn’t I save him, Bell?” she whispered, her voice breaking.  
  
"I know,” he whispered, pulling her close again. “I know, I know… I’m sorry, O. I’m sorry we couldn’t save him.”  
  
She clung to him, crying softly, soaking his shoulder with her grief. Finally she found her voice again and she told him, “I feel so alone. And now that horrible drug is in you too and I don’t know what’s going to happen.”  
  
He guided her over to the bed and they sat next down to each other. He kept her close to his chest as he told her vehemently, “Hey, O, listen to me. I’m _not_ going to leave you. I’ve got you and I’m not going anywhere… you _aren’t_ alone.”  
  
“What about Clarke?” she asked, sniffling, trying to control her grief so she could have a proper conversation with him.  
  
“Me and Clarke are…” He trailed off, clearly struggling to find the words. Stroking a hand over her hair he said, “Look, yes, we’re something… or we’re starting to be. But you and _I…”_ He shook his head, shrugged. “We’re everything. _You’re_ everything. And if you want me to stop things with her-”  
  
Quickly she shook her head and said, “No. No, Bell, it’s fine.” She pulled back and looked at him so he knew she was telling the truth when she continued, “It’s not even _about_ you and Clarke… if you like her, that’s fine. Really.”  
  
She couldn't help but notice how relieved he looked as he nodded. She felt her heart soften, knowing that he must have had really strong feelings for Clarke, yet he still loved his sister enough to turn his back on this new romance if it would stop her from being unhappy. She knew that wasn’t right, not _really,_ that it was a vestige from their mother’s instruction at her birth that he always had to put her first. But it was still touching, still made her heart swell, warmed her up from the inside and made her feel safe, cocooned in his love as she had been the whole of her life.  
  
“I want to go home, Bell,” she said softly.  
  
“We will,” he promised her, and the conviction in his voice made her believe it. “I’m taking you home- _both_ of you.”  
  
“If that is your plan, then we’d best discuss strategy,” Lia suddenly spoke up, making both Blakes jump. She was standing just inside the tent, and Octavia had no idea how long she’d been there.  
  
“Ever hear of _knocking?”_ she snapped to the creepy little kid.  
  
Lia frowned. “There is no door.”  
  
Bellamy was frowning too. “What happened to your cuffs?” he asked, and sure enough, the girl’s wrists were bare.  
  
She pulled a small length of rope from her belt and said, “Right here. There is no reason for concern. I will put them on again before I go back.”  
  
Octavia exchanged a glance with her brother. “So you’re just wearing them for fun?” she asked dryly.  
  
“No, not for fun,” Lia answered, taking her question seriously. “But to keep up appearances. It will go better for us if they think I am contained.”  
  
Bellamy smiled a little at the ground, shaking his head, and he just said, “Okay then.” Octavia looked askance at him, wanting to remind him that Lia wasn't a cute little child, she was a savage little beast who had  _murdered_  Lincoln.  
  
“Should I get Clarke?” Octavia asked, wiping the last of her tears from her cheeks. She was annoyed at Lia for interrupting their moment, but she did see the importance of discussing their exit strategy.  
  
“Clarke and I already talked about this,” Bellamy told her. “She’s going to tell the commander that we have to speak with the council at Camp Jaha before we make any decisions.”  
  
“And if she refuses?” Lia asked him.  
  
“She told Clarke she’d respect whatever decision she makes.”  
  
“The commander wishes to go to war with the Ice Nation,” Lia pointed out. “She may only be saying that to be diplomatic.”  
  
“You know what’s really funny?” Octavia asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s _your_ fault Lexa is dead. So it’s _your_ fault there’s going to be a war at all. If your queen dies, that’s on _you.”_  
  
“O,” Bellamy warned, grabbing her upper arm and pulling her a step back from Lia as if he'd just remembered they should be afraid of her. Octavia realised she probably shouldn’t bait an assassin, even a child one, but Lia seemed unconcerned by her barbed words.  
  
“I have decided to protect you,” Lia informed them, looking at Bellamy to make a point of ignoring Octavia’s antagonism. “All three of you.”  
  
Bellamy looked as shocked as Octavia felt as he said, “Why?”  
  
She shrugged. “My reasons are my own.”  
  
“No way,” Octavia protested. “That’s not good enough.”  
  
She expected Lia to insist on her privacy, to snap an icy retort in response to that, but she just said, “When I was a child, I was raised alongside a boy named Kol- another shadow child. He was a several years older than me… close to the age difference between the two of you. He acted like what you call a first- he was responsible for a large part of my training. We grew very close.” Looking to Bellamy she said, “You remind me of him.” Her eyes flickered toward Octavia for a moment before she clarified, “That is, you remind me of him when you’re with her.”  
  
“What happened to him?” Octavia couldn’t help but ask, noticing that Lia had spoken about him entirely in the past tense.  
  
“He’s dead,” the girl said shortly. “I killed him because I was told to.”  
  
Octavia glanced at Bellamy, who met her eyes and swallowed. Neither of them knew what to say.  
  
“I am not looking for sympathy,” Lia told them. “But I have regretted that action for five years now, and this is the closest I have ever come to an opportunity to make up for it. I have weighed my options carefully, and I believe that if I kill you, or even if I let you die, I will regret that too. So I will protect the two of you-" She glanced at Bellamy. "And Clarke, because I know you will not leave her behind. I will deliver you safely to the gates of your camp, regardless of anything else that may happen.” Lia glanced backward toward the tent flap for a moment before turning her attention again to the Blakes. “I will wait for the outcome of Clarke’s conversation with the commander, and then we will leave- one way or another.”  
  
The two of them watched as Lia slipped the rope back around her wrists, cinching it tight, and then she left the tent and slipped into the darkness.  
  
“Please tell me you just heard what I did,” Bellamy said, still looking shocked.  
  
Octavia glanced at him, and she saw the gratitude in his eyes, the same gratitude she'd seen when he'd realised Lia had gotten them all safely out of Raven Rock. Clenching her jaw in frustration she told him, “She still killed Lincoln, so she's still not forgiven. Besides, you heard her- she's only doing this for herself.” Shaking her head, she went on, “I need some air. I'll tell Clarke to come back to you.”  
  
Before he could protest or say anything else, Octavia whipped the tent flap aside and stalked out into the night.


	57. 57- Clarke

Hesitantly, Clarke stood outside the tent that Eema had allotted to them and cleared her throat, wishing there was some other way to announce her presence. “It’s me,” she called out, hearing the uncertainty in her own voice.  
  
“It’s okay,” Bellamy responded, and Clarke stepped inside. He was sitting on the edge of one of the beds, and he looked like he’d just been deep in thought, but he gave her a soft smile as he met her eyes. “Did Octavia find you?”  
  
“Yeah,” she answered, blushing a little. “She said I’m not allowed to mess with your head, and if I break your heart again then she’s going to destroy me.”  
  
He let out a laugh, loud and genuine, and the sound was a shock to both of them. Bellamy patted the spot next to him and Clarke went over and sat beside him. They inclined their knees toward each other and she looked into his eyes, surprised yet again at how she always found that brown gaze so calming. But there was something underneath the tenderness in his eyes as he looked at her this time.  
  
“What’s wrong?” she asked cautiously, not sure if she wanted to know.  
  
“Did Octavia tell you Lia promised to protect us and take us safely back to Camp Jaha?” he asked her.  
  
Clarke hadn’t been expecting _that._ Her eyebrows shot up in surprise and she felt her heart quicken a little in excitement. “No,” she said. “When did she say that?”  
  
“Just now- she came here after you left. Slipped out from under the noses of her guards, lost the cuffs, and just walked into the tent.” He chuckled a little. “That kid has spirit.” He grew suddenly serious again and let out a long breath. “She told us why, too… there was a boy she was close to, someone who was like a brother to her. Me and O, we remind her of the two of them.”  
  
It made sense; Lia had been drawn to the Blakes since before Clarke even met her, and she’d seen firsthand just how much Bellamy and Octavia seemed to captivate the girl, not alone but as a pair. “Where is he now?” she asked.  
  
“Lia killed him,” he answered with a noticeable cringe. “Because they told her to… five years ago.”  
  
“Five _years?”_ Clarke repeated, totally appalled.  
  
“Yeah,” he answered with a nod, gritting his teeth. “How old do you think she is? Twelve? Thirteen, maybe?”  
  
“That’s what I would have guessed, but it can’t be true,” Clarke protested. “That would have made her-”  
  
“Seven,” he finished for her. “Seven or eight when she killed a boy who helped raise her… who she loved. That would mess anybody up.”  
  
She could hear the raw empathy in his voice and gently she said, “Bellamy… she’s still dangerous.”  
  
“No, that’s the thing- I don’t think she is,” he answered. “She’s always been totally honest with us, Clarke. If she says you’re going to die, you die. If she says she’s going to torture you, she does. And if she says she’s going to protect us…”  
  
“Then we should believe her,” she said, finishing his sentence, nodding her head. “What does Octavia think?”  
  
“Octavia hates her,” he said softly, his eyes falling to the floor. “Of _course_ she hates her.”  
  
Clarke let that hang in the air for the moment- Octavia’s feelings, Bellamy’s feelings, Bellamy’s guilt over Octavia’s feelings. Then she asked, “So what happens after we get to Camp Jaha? Does she just leave? We’re going home to talk to my mom and the rest of the Council about whether to go to war against the Ice Nation. Is she just going to stand by and let us do that? What if they vote yes? What if she leaves and goes straight to Elody, warns her about what’s coming?”  
  
Bellamy hesitated and then said, “I don’t know. She said she’d protect us and see us safely to the gates, but she didn’t say anything about afterward.”  
  
It sounded like there was going to be more to that statement but he fell silent, so she pressed, “But?”  
  
Again, he hesitated. Finally he said, “If she helps us, I don’t know if she _will_ be able to go home.”  
  
“Bellamy… you _can’t_ be thinking that she should stay with us,” she said doubtfully, shaking her head.  
  
“She’s _just_ a little girl,” he replied, not exactly answering the question. “And she’s betraying her people- people who will torture and kill without the slightest bit of remorse- and she’s doing it to help _us._ We can’t just let her go back there. Doesn’t she deserve a second chance?”  
  
Clarke nodded slowly. “You’re right,” she said. “She does. But Octavia is never going to go for that… and I don’t blame her. Bellamy, Lia _murdered_ Lincoln.”  
  
He let out a groan and dropped his head into his hands. “I _know_ that,” he said softly, seeming to be at war with himself.  
  
Gently, she reached out and stroked her fingers through his curls, watching the way his shoulders bowed under his stress. Softly, tenderly, she said, “We can’t save everyone.”  
  
Bellamy’s head shot up and he looked surprised as he met her eyes. _“You’re_ saying that?” he asked dubiously.  
  
Clarke winced a little and then let out a long breath. “It’s true,” she said finally. “It just is. Wishing it wasn’t isn’t going to change anything. We need to get home, Bellamy. You’re right about Octavia- she’s sitting on the edge of a serious crisis and she needs to be safe at home when she finally falls off.”  
  
That seemed to get through to him as he pulled in a long breath and let it out heavily, and then he straightened up, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”  
  
“Dawn’s not far away,” she told him gently. “I need to go talk to Eema.”  
  
Bellamy reached up and laid his palm against her face. She softened, smiling and tilting her cheek into his hand. She wondered if she'd ever get used to the way his face looked as he leaned in to kiss her. She let her eyes close, let his lips chase away everything else in the world and just envelop her.  
  
She still wasn’t accustomed to kissing Bellamy, but that made it even more exhilarating as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close to his chest. She felt how strong he was, felt the texture of his lips against hers, soft but firm, felt the warmth of his fingers as they slid beneath her shirt and settled against her lower back. She traced his jaw with one of her hands and felt him shift her even closer, his palm firm in the small of her back as he pushed her against him.  
  
Clarke backed off a bit and laid her forehead against his. She felt his breath mixing with hers, both of them breathing a bit faster than normal, and she looked into his eyes. They were so brown, so gentle, so full of unvoiced questions. She was close enough to count all the freckles on his face, but she was sure that would take forever. She hadn’t wanted the moment to end, but she was worried that if they went too much farther, neither one of them would be able to stop.  
  
“I know we can’t do anything,” he said softly, reading her mind. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”  
  
She leaned back from him and nodded her head. “I know,” she said. “I do too.” With a heavy sigh she reached into her pocket and pulled out the injector, already loaded with Red, and they both just stared at it for a long moment.  
  
“I’m ready,” he said finally, letting out a long, shaky breath.  
  
Clarke met his gaze again and said, “I hate doing this to you.” Her voice wavered a little at the end and her vision swam as tears filled her eyes.  
  
Bellamy wrapped his hands around hers. Gently, seriously, he said, “You’re saving my life, Clarke. You’re saving _all_ our lives.”  
  
She cringed a little but gritted her teeth, blinking away the tears, nodding. He tilted his head to the side and she primed the injector and then brought it up, sliding the needle deep into his neck, watching as his jaw tensed, briefly, with the pain. She touched her fingertips to the other side of his throat and felt his pulse, quick and erratic, and she wondered how much of that was from the drug and how much was from the kiss.  
  
Pressing the trigger gently, she let the Red trickle into his vein as she kept eye contact with him, feeling his pulse jump and speed up, then crash back to something close to sluggish before finally righting itself again. She watched Bellamy’s eyelashes flutter and saw his eyes glaze over as he drew in deep, ragged breaths, letting each one out slowly.  
  
Clarke had no illusions about what was happening- she knew he was well and truly addicted, and she hated it as much as Octavia did, as much as Bellamy himself did. But maybe, after she talked to Eema, they could get to somewhere that they could use as a place to detox him safely- finally. She just hoped that whatever damage had been done to his heart so far would be minimal.  
  
Once she was satisfied with his pulse, she stopped the flow of Red and withdrew the needle from his neck, easing him down on the bed and covering him with the furs. He was half out of it, his gaze far away and his mouth slack. He looked like he was in a trance and she hated to see him that way, but she knew with the small amount she gave him that it would pass quickly. She sat next to him on the bed and stroked his hair until he was lucid again.  
  
Clearing his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment, he reached up and caught her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Are you going to talk to Eema now?”  
  
“Yeah,” she said with a nod and a tender smile. “You should rest. We’re leaving at first light.”  
  
“First light is less than an hour away,” he reminded her.  
  
“So rest for less than an hour,” she pointed out gently. “It’s better than nothing.”  
  
Despite the logic of that statement, she knew he wouldn’t do it- he would be too preoccupied about the outcome of this meeting to sleep, and so she didn’t waste any time before she left his side and went to Eema’s tent.  
  
The guards were expecting her, and they let her in without incident. Eema, too, was clearly waiting for Clarke’s arrival. She no longer had on her makeup or her jewel, and she was dressed in plain clothes. Without all her regalia she looked much more like herself, and much more like her true age. She smiled warmly at Clarke as she entered, showing teeth, and Clarke couldn’t help but smile back.  
  
The two of them sat together on her chairs, Eema forgoing her throne this time, keeping things informal. “Have you made your decision?” she asked.  
  
“Yes,” Clarke said, nodding. She made sure to keep her face strong and calm as she said, “This is not a choice I can make alone. I need to consult with the Council at Camp Jaha… this decision has to be shared. I can’t ask them to go to war on my word alone, and I won’t risk agreeing to this alliance and then returning home to find out that they won’t follow me. I’ve been gone from Camp Jaha for months- they may not see me as their leader anymore.”  
  
Eema’s frown was deep, but it was not as severe as Clarke had expected. After a long time, thoughtfully she said, “I see your point.”  
  
Clarke tried not to sound too eager as she replied, “So you’re okay with that? I can go home and talk to the Council first?”  
  
“If you do this, how will I know what has been decided?” Eema asked, not answering her one way or the other.  
  
“If we agree to join the coalition and go to war with you, we’ll send soldiers- warriors- to join up with yours at a location of your choosing,” Clarke said, having prepared for that question. “And if we decide not to, then we'll send no one.” It seemed like the most straightforward solution.  
  
“No,” Eema said firmly, surprising her. “If you decide to join, then send your warriors. But if you decide to have no part in this war, _you_ must come back and tell me so yourself. If you send no one, then it could be possible that you never made it to Camp Jaha. There is still much land between here and there.”  
  
Clarke hesitated, but tried a compromise. “I’ll send an envoy with our answer. Either way, you’ll hear from us.”  
  
“I want the messenger to be you,” Eema said frankly.  
  
“My place is with my people,” Clarke said, trying to be delicate. “I’m not a messenger.”  
  
Eema looked down at the ground for a moment, frowning, but then she let out a long sigh. “You are right, of course,” she said, looking back to Clarke and meeting her eyes. “I was being weak.” Suddenly she blinked a few times, as though confused by her own words and tried to recover. “What I mean to say is, I was hopeful that I might see you again. War tends to separate people.”  
  
“You’re always welcome at Camp Jaha, Commander,” Clarke said politely, pretending for both their sakes that it was not Lexa’s influence that had made her say what she had. This time it was Clarke’s turn to be startled by her own thoughts, as she reminded herself that she did _not_ believe in reincarnation.  
  
Eema made that difficult when she said, “It is strange to remember dying… to know that there is no reason to fear it.” She met Clarke’s eyes and said, “Death is _not_ the end.”  
  
Clarke had heard Lexa make that statement a few times, but only now did she truly appreciate those words, what they actually meant to these people- how literally they intended them to be taken.  
  
“Death may not be the end, but I imagine it can still be frightening,” she said gently, looking into Eema’s soft brown eyes. On impulse she added, “It’s okay to be scared. It’s just me here… you don’t have to be brave.”  
  
Eema seemed momentarily surprised at those words, but then she grinned. “You always speak your mind,” she said. “It is one of the things I like most about you… though it can be quite aggravating too.”  
  
Clarke smiled and shook her head. “What’s _aggravating_ is when every moment you spend with someone is turned into a lesson about leadership and sacrifice.”  
  
“Not every moment,” Eema said quietly, and there was Lexa from long ago, her voice so soft as she’d betrayed her feelings for the first time by saying, _Not everyone. Not you._  
  
Looking up into Eema’s gaze, on the surface she saw brown eyes surrounded by a face very different than Lexa’s, but still Clarke couldn’t help but see the steely gaze and soft lips of someone she had once kissed.  
  
Eema got to her feet abruptly and retrieved that same bottle of sky blue liquid, the one that wore the emblem of the Heda on its neck. “What is that?” Clarke couldn’t help but ask. She watched the commander pour herself a tiny amount of the liquid, then stare at it, seeming to hesitate, as if reluctant to drink it.  
  
She walked back over to Clarke and sat down, placing the tiny glass on the arm of her chair and eyeing it with obvious apprehension. “It is a special mixture,” she said finally, her voice soft. “To quiet Lexa’s spirit.”  
  
Clarke was shocked by that answer and she looked at the liquid with new respect, almost dread. “Does it hurt her?” she asked finally, feeling silly to voice the question but deciding to let go of her embarrassment. It was only the two of them there, and Eema wouldn’t mock her for taking her beliefs seriously.  
  
With hesitation, Eema said, “In a sense… yes, it does.” Clarke hadn’t expected that answer, and before she realised what she was doing she had reached out and brushed the glass off the arm of the chair. Together they watched it fall to the ground, where it landed with a soft thump, spilling the sky blue liquid into the earth.  
  
The two women jumped to their feet in unison. Eema’s eyes were wide as she said, absolutely scandalised, “That tonic is precious! The elders spend all the days and nights of the conclave creating it. To spill even a drop is unthinkable.”  
  
Clarke looked at the wet spot on the ground, then at Eema’s severe and appalled expression, and she felt something terrible boiling up in her- a laugh, more from nerves than anything else, as well as the ridiculousness of this situation, of being worried over a spilled magical drink made to silence a dead woman’s ghost. Finally she couldn’t hold it in and she let out a half-swallowed giggle.  
  
Eema looked even more outraged for a moment, but then suddenly she was laughing too. Clarke couldn’t help but say, “I won’t tell them if you don’t.”  
  
Then they were both lost, laughing so hard that they couldn’t breathe. Eema staggered over to her bed and sat down, dropping her head into her hands and just howling with laughter. Clarke’s stomach hurt from how good it felt to just laugh, have fun, be carefree, to make light of something that felt so heavy and so ridiculous at the same time. She sat down next to Eema and the two of them folded into each other, tears streaming down their faces and onto each other's shoulders.  
  
Finally, when they were able to calm down enough to breathe normally, Clarke lay back on the bed and gazed up at the ceiling of the tent. Eema lay back as well, her eyes also fixed on the softly rustling cloth. It felt like they were two teenagers having a slumber party- or what Clarke imagined a slumber party might be like.  
  
Clarke shook her head as she said, “Why couldn’t things have been more like _this_ between me and Lexa? Everything was always so serious- the end of the world.”  
  
“It was because of the Ice Nation,” Eema answered with a sigh. “Because of Costia. It was too hard for her to let go, to relax.”  
  
“She started to, at the end,” Clarke allowed. “Maybe she would have more, if…”  
  
A long silence passed between them and then they turned their heads to look at each other almost in unison. Eema pointed out gently, “Now you are the one making things too serious.”  
  
“Yeah,” Clarke said softly, smiling wryly. “I guess I shouldn’t complain about Lexa being so solemn when I’m just as bad.”  
  
“No,” Eema said, shaking her head. “You are not just as bad.” She gazed into Clarke’s eyes for a moment and then she rolled onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow as she looked thoughtfully at Clarke. Gently she said, “You, too, have suffered much in the way of loss… but you have not let it change your essence.”  
  
Clarke felt a lump rising up in her throat and she asked bitterly, “How can you know that? The things I’ve done…”  
  
“I am not talking about the things you’ve done,” Eema said firmly. She brought her palm up and laid it over Clarke’s heart. “I’m talking about what is inside you.” She let out a long breath. “When you came to tonDC with the warning about the missile, I was wrong to say that you should not allow emotion to stop you from being strong. Your emotions are what _make_ you strong.”  
  
Clarke felt her eyes fill with tears and she didn’t realise how much those words would mean to her until they were spoken aloud. “Thank you,” she managed.  
  
Eema smiled at her, and then she raised her hand from Clarke’s chest and traced the curve of her cheek with her fingertips. “Your strength is unique in this world, Clarke," she said softly. “You should never forget that.”  
  
It wasn’t that the kiss was a shock- it wasn’t, not at all, not by then- but the response she had to it was. As soon as Eema's lips were pressed against hers, Clarke was leaning into her, surprised by how familiar it all felt. As soon as her eyes were closed it was as though she was back with Lexa in her tent, and she could feel that this kiss held a myriad of emotions- not just the tenderness and passion of this moment, but the intensity of all the moments that had come before, as well guilt, heartache, and loss. Even as she kissed her she was grieving, apologising, wishing for something that could never be… saying goodbye.  
  
Slowly she raised a hand, planting it in the small of Lexa’s back as she inched closer to her, feeling the commander tuck one of her legs over Clarke’s, pulling their bodies together on the bed. Lexa’s breasts, stomach, and thighs pressed against Clarke’s as her hand planted itself in her hair, gently parting the blonde strands as she stroked her head. She opened her lips to Clarke, deepening the kiss as their tongues met, sending a shockwave through Clarke’s body.  
  
With a jolt, Clarke pulled away suddenly, and Eema did the same, her gaze mirroring back the same stunned look that Clarke knew must have been thick in her own eyes. Quickly Clarke scrambled off the bed, backing away.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Eema said quickly, getting off the bed herself and keeping far away from Clarke. “Truly. I do not even feel attracted to women... not normally.”  
  
Letting out a small, strangled laugh Clarke shook her head. “It’s fine, it’s just…” She trailed off, having no idea how to finish that sentence.  
  
“I should have a drink,” Eema stammered, practically lunging for the bottle and taking a sip straight from the source. Clarke watched her nervously.  
  
Then Eema said hastily, “You should go home- back to your camp. Six days’ ride northeast from here is where I will rendezvous with your people… whether it will be an envoy or an army. My guards have a map they will give you, as well as fresh horses. I wish you safe travels, Clarke of the Sky People.”  
  
“Thank you,” Clarke said, equally flustered, wishing for dark skin like Eema’s so it could hide at least part of her extreme blush. She started for the tent and then stopped. “I wish you safe travels too, Commander,” she said, not wanting to leave things like that, so abrupt. “And strength for whatever is coming.”  
  
Eema smiled sincerely at her. Gently she said, “May we meet again.”  
  
Clarke was hardly able to murmur her response before she hurried out of the commander’s tent and into the dawn.


	58. 58- Bellamy

Even after Octavia returned to the tent and went to sleep- choosing the middle bed specifically to separate him from Clarke, as they both well knew- Clarke still hadn’t come back from her meeting with the commander. Bellamy stayed up, waiting for her, anxious to hear what her response would be.  
  
Finally Clarke returned, hesitating in the entrance to the tent for only a moment before coming inside. He tried to make eye contact with her but she avoided it, so he knew it couldn’t be good. “She refused to let us go?” he guessed, keeping his voice low for Octavia’s sake.  
  
She shook her head. “No, she accepted our terms and wished us well.”  
  
He raised an eyebrow at her and let out a long breath of relief, hardly believing it could be true. So much had gone wrong- were they really just going to be able to go home now? “We should get moving.”  
  
After a moment Clarke nodded. “Yeah.”  
  
“What’s wrong?” he pressed, frowning, moving over to her. When she took a step back at his approach, he stopped. “Clarke, what is it?” Now he was worried.  
  
“Eema…” She trailed off, shook her head. When she looked at him it was guilt he saw in her eyes- not fear or concern or stress, but _guilt._ Why?  
  
“Eema…?” he repeated, having no idea what she was trying to say. “What-”  
  
“She kissed me,” Clarke finished suddenly.  
  
Bellamy felt his chest tighten and the feeling was unfamiliar. He frowned, looked at the ground, and then swallowed a little. “Okay.”  
  
“Okay?” she asked sharply, and her tone made him raise his eyes and look at her. There was that look again- the guilt. And surprise, like she hadn’t expected him to say that.  
  
On the Ark, he’d never had a girlfriend. Flings, sure, like down here on Earth, but not a _girlfriend._ No time for something so trivial, and too dangerous for Octavia. And what was Clarke? Were they _dating,_ or were they just stealing kisses in amongst trying to survive? When they went back to Camp Jaha, when all this was over, would Clarke be his girlfriend? He couldn’t really blame himself that he hadn’t had time to think about it, not really. He’d been busy. But, now that he was posing the question to himself, he found that dating- or whatever the Earth equivalent might be- _was_ what he wanted. He knew Clarke well enough to know it’s what she wanted too. So why?  
  
That tightness in his chest bothered him, and he tried to just sit with it for a moment, to figure it out. The closest he could come to placing it was the feeling he’d gotten when he’d caught Octavia in the woods with Atom, and again later, the first time he’d realised she and Lincoln were together. But it wasn’t quite the same. So what was this? Anger? Protectiveness? _Possessiveness?_  
  
Jealousy, he realised. Yeah, it was definitely jealousy.  
  
The silence seemed to be too much for Clarke and she pulled him out of his thoughts by saying his name- quietly, hesitantly. Guiltily.  
  
Bellamy looked at her. “Well… did you kiss her back?” As soon as the words left his lips he felt a bit embarrassed, feeling very much like a teenager right now.  
  
He remembered Clarke _was_ a teenager as an anguished and remorseful expression slipped over her face and she nodded. “I didn’t mean to,” she said.  
  
Bellamy’s jaw tensed without his permission. “You can’t kiss someone without _meaning_ to, Clarke,” he retorted, a little more harshly than he’d meant.  
  
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and clasped her hands in front of her stomach as he eyes stayed on the dirt. “You can when they’re inhabited by the spirit of your dead-” She broke off, as if uncertain how to finish that sentence, maybe unsure as to how to define Lexa’s relationship to her, maybe embarrassed at admitting that she was more sold on the idea of reincarnation than she let on.  
  
He released a long breath before shaking his head. Part of him could understand- Clarke had killed Lexa, must have felt horrible guilt for that, and now to feel like she wasn’t totally gone, that maybe Clarke had a chance- not a chance to be _with_ her, but at least an opportunity to resolve her feelings… yes, he could understand. But that didn’t mean he was fine with it.  
  
This situation was just too much- it was clear Clarke didn’t have feelings for _Eema,_ and it felt ridiculous to be jealous of a dead woman. Even though he was.  
  
He watched the guilt and pain chase themselves across her face as she stood there, eyes on the ground, clearly feeling terrible. Maybe this was the closure she needed to truly move on, to prevent Lexa’s ghost, her memory, from interfering with their relationship going forward. He hoped that was all it was. Because he did want them to go forward. And despite what she’d just confessed to him, he was pretty sure she did too.  
  
But even after all that, the truth was he was simply too tired dwell on it for long, to be angry or even hurt- he just wanted to get his sister and Clarke back to Camp Jaha in one piece. Anything else seemed trivial. Anything else, he could worry about later.  
  
He was aware that Clarke was still looking at him, still expecting some kind of response, but he only said, “Let’s just wake Octavia up and go home.”  
  
“Octavia’s already awake,” his sister spoke up before Clarke had the chance to respond. Bellamy cringed a little, not sure if it was with embarrassment or dread.  
  
Throwing off her furs, she got out of bed and stalked over to Clarke, getting right into her face, her blue eyes full of anger. “I can’t _believe_ you did this,” she snarled.  
  
“O, stop it,” Bellamy snapped, getting annoyed with both of them. They didn’t have _time_ for this. “We have bigger things to worry about than my feelings.”  
  
“I _warned_ you,” Octavia said to Clarke, and then she obeyed him, turning on her heel and starting to gather their few possessions together. Her movements were angry, tense, but he didn’t have time to indulge them.  
  
“I’ll go get Lia,” Bellamy said. “So help me God, if you two don’t just stay here and get ready to go....” He let that comment hang in the air, and before either of them could protest, he was stalking out of the tent and making a beeline for where the prisoners were being held.  
  
He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised when Clarke rushed after him, but he was. Then again, surprise might not have been the right word. He felt her fall into step beside him and he glanced sideways just in time to see her raise her hand to touch his arm, then think better of it, dropping it to her side again.  
  
Bellamy stopped walking and he put his hands on Clarke’s shoulders. “We’re _fine,”_ he told her firmly.  
  
She met his eyes and gave him a dubious look. “How?”  
  
“Because we’re leaving here. We’re going home and that's all that matters right now,” he answered her question frankly. “And because your lips don’t belong to me.”  
  
A tiny smile spread over her face but then she banished it with a shake of her head, her jaw tightening a little at the same time. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”  
  
“Look, Clarke…” He heaved a deep breath and asked, “Do you want this? Us?”  
  
This time she did touch his arm and she nodded immediately as she said, “Yes, I do. I want this.”  
  
He was surprised at the rush of relief he felt at those words. “Okay then,” he replied, reaching up and covering her hand with his, giving it a squeeze before letting her go. “So no more kissing other people.” He was trying to make a joke of it, but he was serious. He wanted that out in the open- this was her one allowance to make a mistake like that.  
  
Clarke didn’t even attempt a smile as she nodded. Softly she said, “I’m still sorry.”  
  
He shrugged and glanced away for a moment, letting a breath out between his teeth, and then turned back to her. He saw that she was telling the truth, her eyes still full of that guilt. After a moment he said, “You’re not my girlfriend.”  
  
The pain that flashed through her eyes was sudden and deep, and instantly he regretted his words- or at least, regretted the way she was obviously interpreting them. He’d only meant that they’d made no declarations of exclusivity yet, that things had still been too new to even discuss what this _was,_ though it was obviously _something,_ that he really didn’t have a right to be angry _._ She wasn’t his property, and he’d watched enough men treat women- treat his _mother-_ like property that he was determined to be different. Still, the look on her face made him feel like an ass. “Clarke-”  
  
“No, it’s okay,” she said quickly. “We’re fine- like you said.” Awkwardly she added, “The Commander told me she’d give us fresh horses. I’ll go get them.”  
  
He would have rather kissed her than talk business, but he just squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forcing himself to switch gears and nod his head. “And I’ll get Lia,” he answered. “We’ll meet back at the tent.”  
  
Clarke gave him a tight smile of agreement and then hesitated for only a moment before hurrying away from him. He watched her go, feeling too many emotions to sort through right now- enough to give him a serious headache. But he knew he couldn’t focus on any of that. He just had to get all of them out of this camp before somebody changed their mind and everything fell apart again.  
  
Moving toward the stockade, he could see Lia and the other Ice Nation prisoner sitting close together, each tied to their own stake in the ground, their hands bound behind them. He now knew those cuffs were only a formality in Lia’s case, but he also knew he couldn’t let on to her guards that that was true. Instead, he lingered nearby until she noticed him and then gave her a pointed look that he hoped explained everything. She seemed to think so, as he saw her give him a subtle nod before she closed her eyes, pretending to be sleeping against the stake. Message delivered, Bellamy headed back to the tent, where Octavia was crouched outside next to the flap, fuming at their packed bags.  
  
“I don’t want to hear it,” he said as he reached her, trying to preempt a fight.  
  
She ignored him and unfolded to her feet, baring her teeth at him. “How could she _do_ that? It’s bad enough she _cheated_ on you, but with _Eema?_ She’s known her for less than twenty-four hours!”  
  
“It’s _not_  about Eema,” he said a slight roll of his eyes. “And she didn’t _cheat_ on me, they just kissed.” He added, for Clarke’s sake, “It’s complicated. But I’m serious, O- I don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
“So that’s it?” she snapped, looking disappointed in him. “She just gets a free pass to break your heart? _Again?”_  
  
“Octavia-”  
  
“No, you’re going to just forgive her, _aren’t_ you?” she interrupted, toeing the ground with her boot, angrily kicking at a pebble until it was loose enough to pick up and hurl past the tents and into the meadow. “Like you _always_ do.”  
  
He let out a long breath. “It’s complicated,” he said again. “And it’s none of your business.”  
  
“You _are_ my business,” she said quietly.  
  
He softened a little and reached out, squeezing her shoulder. “I'm okay,” he assured her. “I can handle this, O. I need you to trust me. And no matter what else I feel, it’s not important right now. We just have to get out. Okay? No matter what else, I need you to live- _both_ of you.” It was the most basic truth; he needed Clarke _and_ Octavia to be alive, or he knew he’d never survive the grief that would follow. So it was simple- it had to be. There was no time for it to be complicated. Complicated could wait.  
  
But for Octavia, everything was always _too_ simple, especially when anger and betrayal was involved. “No, Bell, where does it _end?”_ she growled. “She let that missile drop onto tonDC and kill _hundreds_ of people… and she thought one of them was _me.”_ She could have used a dozen different examples, but he knew she’d used that one because it was one of the ones that hurt him deepest, and he cringed even as the words left her mouth. He knew that, had Octavia died in tonDC when that missile struck, he couldn’t have forgiven Clarke- not ever.  
  
But she hadn’t died, and now he and Clarke were building something together- something he didn’t want to stop. Octavia’s protests only frustrated him.  
  
“I _don’t_ want to talk about it,” he said again, more firmly. “End of discussion.”  
  
“No, that’s not good enough!” she snarled, shaking her head. “We’re _going_ to talk about it. _Right now.”_  
  
“Dammit, Octavia, don’t you think we have bigger things to worry about?” he exploded at her, keeping his voice a hiss, not sure who might be listening. “I don’t _care_ about anything else right now, okay? We need to get the hell _out_ of here, we need to get me off this drug, and we need to get ourselves _home. All_ of us.”  
  
Her whole body suddenly stiffened and she shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice choking up. “Not _all_ of us.”  
  
He closed his eyes briefly, realising his mistake. “O…” He reached for her, but she shrugged him away roughly.  
  
“You’re right about one thing,” she snapped, her eyes full of tears. “We need her to fix you- I get that. But after that, she and I are _done._ And if you want to _be_ with her, then you and I will be done too.” He watched her eyes widen, watched her swallow a little in shock as soon as the words left her lips, realising the magnitude of what she’s just said.  
  
Bellamy shook his head, trying to will the anger out of himself, feeling his heart pounding in his chest as he did all he could not to escalate this fight. “You don’t mean that,” he said finally.  
  
Despite her clear and instantaneous regret, her stubbornness won out and she snarled, “Oh yes I do.”  
  
He lost his patience completely and then all he could feel was angry- at Octavia, at Clarke, at Eema, at himself… he felt the rage boiling up inside him and as much as he tried to push it down, he couldn’t seem to do it. He couldn’t even yell at her anymore, he was so angry. He could feel that tightness in his chest, that strange fluttering, that he’d felt after the attack he’d had in the woods. He turned away from her, taking deep breaths, his hand on his chest.  
  
“Bell?” she asked, her voice suddenly tender and frightened. “Are you okay?”  
  
But he was too angry to respond. He ignored her and went to their bags, searching through them for a canteen of water, hoping a long drink would help him calm down.  
  
Loosening the strings on one of the satchels, he pulled it open and then froze. He hadn’t found water at all, but instead he was looking at vial after vial of Red, the injector sitting on top, already loaded with a full ampoule, ready for his next dose. Clarke must have hidden it somewhere in the tent, but now that Octavia had gathered all their things together for the journey, here it was, right in front of him. So accessible.  
  
Holding the leather sides of the bag tightly, he just stared at the drug, and he wanted it so badly- _all_ of it. It was so close to him, so tangible, and it would be so easy to just reach out and take it. He could almost feel the sweet relief he knew it would bring him, the immense pleasure that would override this anger he was feeling, that would calm his heart and make him comfortable.  
  
He felt himself break out into a cold sweat, felt his hearing fade as his vision tunneled down until all he could see was the Red. His hands started to shake as he fought for control- fought hard, but felt himself losing. As if his hand belonged to someone else he watched it reached out and slide across the cool metal of the injector, watched the fingers close around it, watched himself lifting it up.  
  
_“Bellamy!”_ Octavia’s voice rang out suddenly from beside him, jolting him, making him wonder just how many times she’d called out his name. He wanted to look at her, only he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the Red. But she was already moving, and she grabbed at his hands, seizing the injector, trying to pry it loose from his grasp.  
  
Something snapped inside him as he realised he was about to lose his chance, and he shoved her away roughly, his grip tightening even more on the injector as Octavia stumbled in surprise and hit the ground with a thud. Quickly she scrambled to her feet and yelled, “Bell, don't! She isn’t _worth_ this!”  
  
But his sister didn’t understand- this had nothing to do with Clarke. This was an addiction, pure and simple. The desire for Red was like the relentless swells of a choppy sea, and he was going under fast.  
  
“Bellamy, no!” Clarke yelled suddenly from the other side of him. She and Octavia flanked him and he found that even worse. He felt cornered and that made him want to defend the drug even more, the urgency growing to get it while he could in case they got to him and took it away.  
  
“Get back!” he yelled at them, clutching the injector and the bag of Red to his chest. They were drawing lots of attention now, many of the _Fayakru_ warriors coming over to see what the commotion was about. They didn’t understand what was happening yet, but he knew they would soon. He didn't care.  
  
Octavia and Clarke took a few steps back, both of them holding up their hands, palms out toward him, their eyes looking at him in absolute panic.  
  
From deep within himself he could feel that pit of insatiable need, the one-track mind of desire, the knowledge that if only he buried that needle into his neck and released the drug, he would feel so much better. All of this- the sadness, the pain, the rage, the ache of his body, his restlessness, his exhaustion… it would all just disappear. The whole world would disappear and he could finally rest. Didn’t he deserve a rest?  
  
But he also knew that if he did this, if he took a full dose, he would become dangerous. Eema’s guards would try to kill him, and even if they didn’t succeed, he might hurt someone he cared about- or worse. He knew he’d never be strong enough to give himself a small dose, but he wanted this so badly, _needed_ it. He couldn’t fight a desire so strong. He felt like he would die if he didn’t have it- and have it right _now._  
  
Both women screamed when he raised the injector to his neck- Clarke’s cry was like a strangled gasp, sickened and full of remorse. Octavia’s was more like grief, coloured by terror and disbelief.  
  
He stood there, breathing hard, and with every fiber of his being he wanted to press it into his neck, wanted to let every drop from that ampoule fill his veins, then load another one and another, injecting the entire bag until they were all gone. He didn’t care if it killed him. The disgusting truth was, he didn’t even care about Clarke or Octavia in that moment, of what he might do to them- all he saw was the Red.  
  
“Don’t do this,” Clarke begged him, tears slipping down her cheeks as she gave him the most pitiful, pleading expression that he’d ever seen on her face. He could remember how much he cared for her. But it didn’t stop him from sliding the needle deep into his neck.  
  
“Bellamy, please,” Octavia cried, and her voice was as small as when she’d been a helpless child, and he could remember every moment of raising her, how he’d tended so lovingly to her needs. But it didn’t stop him from curling his index finger around the trigger.  
  
It was Lia who halted his madness, appearing out of nowhere and closing her little hand around his, yanking at the injector and pulling him backward. The motion ripped a trench in his neck as she tore the needle away and threw the injector to one side. He collapsed to his knees, then onto all fours, gasping, nearly vomiting with the shock of it all, with the knowledge that he’d missed his chance.  
  
Instantly Clarke and Octavia were on him, Clarke’s hand going to the wound on his neck while Octavia wrapped her arms around him and sobbed, pulling back long enough to slap him hard across the face before holding tightly to him again. His cheek stung, his neck throbbed, but he barely registered any of it.  
  
“You were going to _leave me!”_ Octavia screamed, her voice going shrill as she seized his shoulders in her hands and shook him violently. He stared at her, hardly believing the look on her face as she continued to scream, “You _coward!_ You were going to leave me all _alone!”_  
  
“Octavia, _stop!”_ Clarke yelled at her, and abruptly he saw his sister’s expression change, saw the gravity of her own words and actions hit her with force, saw her whole face crumble with guilt and absolute anguish. She staggered to her feet, and his last impression of her as she veered out of the camp was her new braids, the coloured strands of thread catching the sunlight as she ran.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though she was long gone, and he felt his tears spill over as he just sat there in the dirt, crying bitterly.  
  
“It’s fine,” Clarke said quickly, and she seemed worried about him saying anything more. He took the hint and stayed silent. The _Fayakru’s_ healer knelt by her side and Clarke used her supplies to tend to the wound in his neck. Bellamy kept his eyes on the dirt, his humiliation too huge, too impossible to face.  
  
“What _is_ this?” Eema’s voice came suddenly from nearby.  
  
Her question was followed by quite a bit of back and forth in Trigedasleng, and Bellamy felt himself tense up, worried that the warriors would catch on to the fact that he was a Reaper and want to kill him. But Lia had already absconded with the Red, following Octavia’s path out of the camp and toward the woods.  
  
“Everything’s fine, Commander,” Clarke assured her, and Bellamy saw the awkwardness between the two as they tried not to look at each other. Clarke continued, “He’s just upset.”  
  
Bellamy saw Eema’s frown, saw the way she studied his face, and he knew that she knew the truth. He half-expected her to order his capture, but she just looked at Clarke and said, “Your horses are waiting. I believe it is time that you go.”  
  
“I couldn’t agree more,” Clarke said quickly, keeping her voice polite. She pulled Bellamy to his feet by his arm and hauled him in the direction of the horses. He followed her mutely, everything a blur.  
  
There was more murmuring in Trigedasleng, but then Eema silenced everyone with a word and seemed to order them to disperse. As he and Clarke reached the horses, the commander crept up close to them so no one would overhear. She asked Clarke, as though Bellamy wasn’t there, “Will you be safe with him?”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Clarke said firmly, almost sharply. “He’s safe.”  
  
In that moment he felt wretched, guilty, anything but safe… but he didn’t protest, he just got onto his horse. “We need to find Octavia,” he said, stringing a sentence together with great difficulty, hoping it would give Eema the impression that he was well in control of himself. Octavia’s name conjured up the expression she’d worn as she’d yelled at him- shocked disbelief, horror and total betrayal. She had never looked at him like that before, and remembering it made him feel like crawling into a cave and letting himself die.  
  
Clarke tied the reins of the two extra horses to hers and Bellamy’s, and then she climbed up onto her own animal. Looking down at Eema, she seemed unsettled for a moment, but she just said, “Thank you again, Commander.”  
  
“Safe travels,” Eema answered, seeming equally awkward about this farewell.  
  
Clarke turned her horses in the direction that Octavia and Lia had gone, and Bellamy moved his into step just behind her.  
  
He tried to focus on one moment at a time, one step at a time, and tried very hard not think about how disgusting he felt, how Octavia had hit him and screamed, accusing him of abandoning her, called him a coward.  
  
He tried not to think about how badly he’d scared both her and Clarke, how they’d all just narrowly escaped being attacked by warriors fearful of him, of what he was… and he had no doubts about what he was, what he’d become.  
  
He was a despicable thing, a drug addict, a murderer and a monster. There was so much shame boiling up in his chest, he thought he might drown.


	59. 59- Octavia

There was something satisfying about crashing through trees and crunching over underbrush, not even bothering to find a trail but just blazing one of her own, braids flying behind her as she ran as fast as she could, pausing only occasionally to free a tendril of hair from a particularly determined branch.  
  
Tears were still streaming down her face, but the slightly cool air felt good on her face, and she ran until she couldn’t anymore, until she plunged from the forest and her feet suddenly seemed to meet the edge of the world, her arms wheeling to stop her from falling over. An incredible waterfall pounded down the nearby cliff face, and for a moment she just stared, awestruck at the sight.  
  
She dropped her knees into the dirt, close enough to the precipice to feel dizzy, and just breathed in that slightly damp air, feeling droplets from the waterfall mingle with the tears on her cheeks.  
  
The snap of a branch behind her pulled at her attention and she whirled her head, looking for Bellamy. But it was Lia who emerged from the thicket, and Octavia was sure she had broken that branch on purpose, just to announce her presence.  
  
“What do _you_ want?” Octavia snapped, turning her face back to the beautiful view.  
  
“You are acting like a child,” Lia told her, stopping a few feet away and just standing there.  
  
Letting out a soft laugh without any real humour in it, Octavia turned her head again and looked at the way the girl disappeared up to her waist in the tall grass. _“I’m_ the child?”  
  
“Do you have no sense at all?” Lia countered with a question of her own. “You could have been mauled by a bear, captured by slavers, or tumbled over that cliff by now. In your culture, is it customary to behave so recklessly?”  
  
Octavia gritted her teeth and said, “I _have_ no culture.”  
  
Lia dropped down in the earth next to her, putting her hands on the ledge and leaning out over the roaring river below. Octavia thought about pushing her off, but she was probably too clever, and it would be Octavia herself who would plunge to her death.  
  
Lia stared out into the abyss and asked, “Are you not afraid you might jump?”  
  
Confused by her use of the word ‘jump’ and not ‘fall,’ Octavia frowned. “No. Why would I?”  
  
Meeting her eyes, Lia leaned back on her knees and said, “We must go back.”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” Octavia said, shaking her head. She tried to banish the thought of Bellamy that rose into her mind, the idea that his addiction had become stronger than his love for her- something that she never dreamed could happen. She breathed hard, trying to control her emotions, but she felt her heart breaking inside her chest and it was like a physical pain. Only her realisation that Lia hadn’t answered her made her look up again.  
  
“Your love will survive this,” the girl said to her. “It is why I’m helping you.”  
  
Octavia pushed to her feet and she walked away from her, fists clenching in anger. When she felt she was a safe distance away she spun around and yelled, “Why the hell couldn’t you have figured that out before?” She could hear her own voice, how it wavered dangerously.  
  
Lia got to her feet as well but she remained stoic- always stoic. It was infuriating. Calmly she said, “I am sorry about Lincoln.”  
  
“Don’t even _say his name!”_ Octavia roared, and she wanted so badly to kill her, strangle her right there in the dirt or throw her over the cliff, but she knew she couldn’t and it made her feel trapped and horrible. “You ruined _everything.”_  
  
Nodding her head, Lia repeated, “We must go back.”  
  
Octavia threw up her hands and paced, then suddenly whirled and stalked right up to the little girl, whose head barely reached her chest. “I _hate_ you.”  
  
Again, Lia nodded, and Octavia let out a yell of pure frustration and actually held out her hands, fingers curled and tense, miming strangulation, betraying her deepest desires. She remembered how Echo had taught her to nurture her pain like a baby, but that baby was stirring inside her now, crying for its revenge.  
  
“You deserve to _die_ for what you did,” Octavia snarled, dropping her hands with utter defeat, apologising to the child inside her and promising it that the time was still coming- they would make this right. One day.  
  
Every day when she woke up she thought of one of Indra’s lessons: _A warrior doesn’t mourn those she’s lost until after the battle is won._ She was waiting for when it would be safe to open the bottle of grief she held for Lincoln and let it spill out, but it was getting harder and harder to keep it sealed.  
  
“I deserve to die for many things,” Lia said quietly, pulling Octavia’s attention to her and turning her head to gaze at the waterfall for a moment before looking back to Octavia. As if making a snap decision, she reached up with both of her hands and tugged at the stretchy cotton neckline of her shirt, pulling it down low and exposing the upper part of her chest.  
  
All along her collarbones sat neat little vertical lines, perfect scars as though cut by the sharpest blade imaginable, spreading out from the centre of her chest and flaring out towards her shoulders. It looked like stitching in her skin.  
  
“Each one is a kill,” she told Octavia. There were so many- more than Octavia had ever seen on any warrior.  
  
“Which one is Lincoln’s?” she couldn’t help but ask, her voice bitter and thick with grief. Lia didn’t move for a long moment, and then she let go of the left side of her shirt and pointed to one of the lines on the outermost corner of her right collarbone. It looked more fresh than most of the others. Octavia stared at the line for a long moment, then swept her eyes over all the others once more before she glared at Lia and said, “I don’t feel sorry for you.”  
  
Letting her shirt settle back into place, Lia met her gaze said, “And that is why you are stronger than your brother. More resilient. You have survived Lincoln’s death for this long, and you will continue to survive it. One day, the hurt will be smaller.”  
  
Octavia dreaded that day, couldn’t imagine it. But before either of them could say anything else, she heard Bellamy’s voice cut through the peaceful forest as he called her name. She could hear the strain in his tone, the anguish and stress, but still she considered not going to him.  
  
“That hurt, too, will grow smaller,” Lia told her, as if reading her mind. For a third time she said, “We must go back. He will need you for what is coming.”  
  
“The detox could kill him,” Octavia said, her heart filling with dread as she looked toward the sound of Bellamy’s voice, heard it growing closer. Maybe Lia was right, that she would ultimately survive Lincoln’s death, but she wouldn’t survive Bellamy’s too. She knew she couldn’t lose both of them.  
  
“The drug will kill him faster,” Lia said, once again pulling her from her thoughts. For a long moment both girls just looked at each other, and then Octavia turned away and walked back into the forest.  
  
Bellamy slid from his horse the second he saw her and she could read him like a book, knew what he wanted despite the fact that he didn’t approach her, kept his arms at his side. His eyes said everything, but he didn’t move. Instead she went to him, ignoring Clarke’s hesitant smile as she passed her horse.  
  
Octavia threw her arms around Bellamy’s neck, holding him close. She felt his long, shaky exhale of relief as she wrapped his arms around her in return. The two of them stayed that way for a long time, and from the sheer force of their desire to be alone, they excluded the other two until they were ready to let go.  
  
He looked at her, searching her eyes, and she gave him a smile, knowing it was full of not just love but also the pain she felt, the grief and heartache. They shared more in that single look than any conversation could have provided. He apologised, she apologised, they forgave each other, and once again they were united.  
  
Bellamy reached up and laid a hand on her cheek, nodding at her as though she’d spoken. “I’m going to take you home now,” he said softly, gently, his deep voice thick with emotion.  
  
Octavia nodded her head, but it was Clarke who ended the moment. Speaking up from her horse she said, “Not quite. First, detox. What just happened- that was way too close.”  
  
Octavia saw the apprehension and fear spring immediately into Bellamy’s eyes, but she reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his, squeezing gently as she kept his attention on her. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Bell,” she said firmly. “I promise.”  
  
That old adage seemed to work- at least for now- and he drew in a deep breath, nodding. “Okay then… let’s just get it over with.”  
  
Clarke unrolled a sheaf of paper and studied something on it. “According to Eema’s map, there’s a network of caves only four hours’ ride from here- we can do it there.”  
  
“Clarke, we don’t have a shock baton,” Octavia protested.  
  
She watched as Clarke gritted her teeth. “We’ll have to do it without.”  
  
“No!” Octavia exclaimed, her hand tightening around her brother’s. “No _way._ What if his heart stops?”  
  
Letting out a long breath, Clarke shook her head slowly and looked to Bellamy. “Either we do this now, and risk it… or we don’t do it, and risk that you won’t _make it_ to where there’s a shock baton.”  
  
“Don’t ask _him,”_ Octavia snapped, letting go of Bellamy to wring her hands in frustration. “He’s _obviously_ going to choose to be an idiot because he’s scared he might hurt us.”  
  
Bellamy let out a soft laugh despite the dire situation. “Thanks, O.”  
  
“You know it’s true,” she said, rolling her eyes. Looking between him and Clarke for a moment she declared, _“I’m_ making this decision. We’re going back to Camp Jaha and detoxing him there where we have access to all your mom’s equipment. Lia will guard the Red, and we’re going. _End of discussion.”_  
  
She didn’t even have to look at Bellamy to see his smile as she used the words he’d so often used on her. “Hey,” he protested gently. “Seriously though, Clarke’s right. With what just happened… we can’t risk it.”  
  
“No, _I’m_ right,” she answered, looking at him so he would see she was dead serious. “We’re not doing this until you’re somewhere safe. The three of us can handle you, Bell. All you have to do is make sure not to kill me or Clarke.” She intentionally left Lia out of that statement, and glanced at her to see if her words had stung, but Lia’s expression was as infuriatingly impassive as ever. If she could just get a rise out of that girl, she might feel a whole lot better, but it seemed like an uphill battle.  
  
But Bellamy wasn’t impassive at all. His eyes filled with horror as he said, “I could _never-”_  
  
“I know,” she cut him off. “So we’re fine.” Looking to Clarke she said, “Now give him some Red so we can leave.”  
  
Clarke got off her horse and went to Lia, who handed her the injector, careful not to allow the bag’s contents anywhere near Bellamy’s field of vision. Octavia waited as Clarke circled around to Bellamy and inserted the needle into his neck, monitoring his pulse as the drug flowed into his body.  
  
They all waited in silence as Bellamy’s eyes glazed over and he dropped to the ground, and Octavia had to avert her gaze at the revolting smile that spread across his lips. She watched the trees, pulling in deep breaths, until her brother was lucid again. It scared her, when he was on that drug- who was he?  
  
Hastily Bellamy got back to his feet, and she felt guilty for the way his eyes stayed on the ground, as if they’d all caught him in a carnal act.  
  
“Okay,” she said, making her voice more enthusiastic than necessary. “So now that we know what’s happening, let’s hurry up and get the hell out of here.” When nobody moved, what little patience she had ran out and she yelled, _”Now!”_  
  
Bellamy got back on his horse, and Octavia and Lia mounted the extra ones. Octavia let Clarke take the lead, since she was the one with the map, and she breathed a sigh of relief when Clarke calculated aloud that the remainder of their journey to Camp Jaha would take just three days.  
  
Before she could even stop the thought from forming in her mind, she was already thinking it. _Only three days. What could possibly go wrong?_


	60. 60- Clarke

Their first day’s ride was uneventful and largely silent, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Clarke felt the tension thick in the air all around them, but she had no idea how to break it. She knew she’d hurt Bellamy, as much as he might want to brush it off, and she also knew that Octavia well and truly hated _her_ , or was at least very close to it. She didn’t know how to fix that either. So she spent much of that first day’s journey trying to think of ways to set things right, to smooth things over between herself and both Blakes- but she just couldn’t.  
  
When they finally found a decent place to camp, they all laid out their beds quietly, a fire was lit, and then Lia announced, “Bellamy. We should hunt.”  
  
Immediately she felt Bellamy’s eyes on her and she looked at him. He raised his eyebrows at her and shrugged. “Something fresh would be nice.”  
  
“No way,” Octavia said, glowering into the flames. “I’m not staying here alone with _her.”_  
  
“O…” Bellamy’s voice was heavy with weariness. “Are _you_ going to go hunting?”  
  
“No,” she snapped, glaring at him, her eyes sliding to Lia. “I don’t want to be alone with _her_ either.”  
  
“Well, I’m going,” he declared, and Clarke wondered if what he really wanted was to get some time away from both of them. Lia might not have been particularly good company, but at least she was quiet.  
  
Octavia gritted her teeth but then she just shrugged and pushed to her feet, stalking over to the four beds of furs and laying down on one of the middle ones. She pulled the blankets up over her head and said nothing else.  
  
Clarke watched Bellamy draw in a deep breath and look down at the ground for a moment, and then he shook his head and went to the saddlebags, grabbing a knife and tucking it into his belt. He crossed over to Clarke and put an arm around her, pulling her close to his chest abruptly. The gesture surprised her, but she found herself immediately relaxing into his arms. She buried a small smile in his shoulder and brought a hand up to squeeze his back. “Stay safe,” he whispered in her ear, brushing his lips against her cheek briefly before he turned and walked with Lia into the forest.  
  
The smile still on her face, Clarke sat down in front of the fire. She had no sooner picked up a stick to poke at the wood when she heard Octavia’s icy voice. “We should have left you there.”  
  
She hadn’t even heard her move, but Octavia was now sitting up, cross-legged, on her bed, glaring at Clarke. Now she said, “We never should have come to get you.”  
  
Clarke looked back at the fire and she took a deep breath, watching the flames licking at the air for a moment before finally looking back to her. “Lincoln was my friend.”  
  
“Yeah, and he was my _everything,”_ Octavia countered, and the bitterness in her voice was thick and unforgiving. “And now he’s dead. So now _Bellamy_ is my everything. But you want to take him too, don’t you?”  
  
Clarke swallowed and looked back to the fire, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t escalate this. Finally she settled for, “Bellamy loves you. Nothing I could do would ever change that. But he can make his own choices, and he doesn’t belong to you.”  
  
“Oh yes he does,” she growled, finally getting to her feet, charging over. Clarke actually jumped up too, a bit nervous at the anger in the younger girl’s stride.  
  
Octavia stopped short as Clarke took a step back and her lip curled. “Are you _scared_ of me? Are you scared of _everything_ now, Clarke?”  
  
Clarke felt her cheeks flush and she struggled to explain. “What I’ve been through-”  
  
“What about what _I’ve_ been through?” Octavia cut her off. “Or what _Bellamy’s_ been through? What we’ve _all_ been through? You know what, Clarke? You already decided to walk away once. But this time you’ll have to stand and face it- all those fears, all those terrible things. _This_ time, you’ll have to step up and take responsibility for the things you’ve done.” She was right up in her face now, and Clarke could see the crackling energy, the rage in her eyes.  
  
“I’m doing-”  
  
“The best you can?” Octavia interrupted. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”  
  
“Octavia, I didn’t-”  
  
“Mean to hurt anyone?” she cut her off again. It was infuriating. “You don’t even _know_ what hurt is.”  
  
Clarke sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, trying not to let her get to her- which was obviously exactly what she wanted. “You don’t want to fight with me,” she tried, keeping her voice calm.  
  
“Yeah,” Octavia snarled. “Actually, I do. You could use a good fight.” She reached out and grabbed her jacket, hauling her forward a step until they were only inches apart. “Come on, Clarke, I _know_ you- and this _isn’t_ you. This frightened little girl… it’s not who you are. You’re stronger than that.”  
  
Clarke shook her head, stepping away a little, turning back towards the fire, but again Octavia grabbed her jacket. This time she spun her around, pulled her towards her even closer, and then gave her a rough shove backward. Clarke fell, landing on the hard ground with a thump. Octavia stood over her, her expression unreadable. Embarrassed, Clarke scrambled to her feet- and now she was angry. She gave Octavia a shove, annoyed to find that the girl’s feet were planted so firmly in the earth that she barely moved. “What the hell do you want from me?!” she yelled.  
  
A slow smile spread over Octavia’s lips and she said, “That. _That’s_ what I want.”  
  
Clarke shook her head and turned away. “I’m not going to do this.”  
  
“Why not?” Octavia asked, moving so fast that she’d planted herself between Clarke and the fire before she’d barely taken a step. Clarke changed direction and moved towards the beds instead, but again the girl was right in her face before she’d even gone anywhere.  
  
“Octavia, _stop,”_ Clarke said, her anger bubbling more and more furiously in her chest. Every time she tried to move, Octavia would head her off, that frustrating and devious grin on her face. She was enjoying this far too much.  
  
Finally Clarke couldn’t stand it anymore and she grabbed Octavia by the shoulders, shoving her as far away from her as she could and then running- it was ridiculous because she didn’t even know where she was going, but she just needed to get free of this harassment.  
  
She plunged into the forest and saw the dim glow of bioluminescence up ahead, so she went that way only because it was the only direction she could see properly.  
  
The forest was quiet, caught between day and night, the day creatures now sleeping but the night creatures not yet stirring. Clarke could hear nothing but her own footsteps as she crept closer and closer toward that pretty glow.  
  
She emerged in a small clearing and could see a stump that had long since been burned by lightning. In the centre a whole radiant ecosystem had sprung up, delicate leaves unfurling from stems glowing brilliant green, and soft petals of things like flowers, blooming in brilliant yellows and blues.  
  
Clarke had about three seconds to appreciate all that, before she was hit from behind. She fell down onto her stomach and immediately her hair was gathered up in a fist, her head pulled back a little, a cool blade pressed against her throat.  
  
In the next moment the knife was gone and she was being hauled up by her arm. “You could have been killed,” Octavia told her, sounding irritated.  
  
“Oh really?” Clarke snapped her response. “By you?”  
  
Octavia walked over to the stump and looked down at the little bioluminescent civilisation that had grown up inside it. Although the plants were pretty, their glow gave Octavia bit of a maniacal glint. “You know, I used to wonder where you were,” she said finally, quietly. “Before I thought you were dead.”  
  
Clarke shook her head, looking at the ground, not answering. Tentatively she walked over to the stump and looked down at the shimmering garden too.  
  
“I used to imagine you’d have joined up with a clan, like me,” she continued, not seeming bothered by Clarke’s closeness or silence. “Or I thought maybe you’d meet some hot guy-” She glanced, met Clarke’s eyes for a moment, and then looked back down. “-or girl- who’d sweep you off your feet. That you’d get married and forget all about us.” She let out a long breath as though she was disappointed that none of her daydreams had come true, and Clarke watched her face carefully, trying to figure out where she was going with this. Finally she got to the point. Looking at Clarke’s face again, she just gazed at her for a long moment, then she said, “But I never thought I’d find you in some palace, being doted on by a queen, dressed in pretty gowns with your own little slave girl to feed you and clothe you and brush your hair.”  
  
Clarke’s face burned; she knew Octavia couldn’t have _known_ half of that, but the fact that she could guess correctly made it even worse.  
  
“I don’t know why I was so surprised,” Octavia continued. “From the moment we landed, Bellamy had you pegged. You were always one of the privileged, weren’t you? Big quarters, the best rations, a bathtub, _windows_ … hell, I bet you even had a TV. Life with the queen must have come easy to you.”  
  
“What do you want from me?” Clarke asked, gritting her teeth, forcing herself to keep eye contact. Octavia had a way of looking right through people, past the outside stuff to get at the soul- their true essence. And she never minded dispensing the brutal honesty of what she saw.  
  
Now she said to Clarke, “You should have figured out how to fight. You should have found a warrior clan and spent every day in the dirt, learning. You ran away because you felt guilty, right? Helpless? Fine. But hiding from it, letting yourself be coddled and _manipulated…_ that doesn’t change anything. You’re still the same person. You’re still weak.”  
  
“My strengths aren’t always like yours,” Clarke snapped. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not there. I’m still alive, aren’t I?”  
  
“And now you want to be with _my_ brother,” Octavia said, as though Clarke hadn’t spoken at all. She let out a snort of disdain.  
  
“Yes,” Clarke told her, sharply. “I do. I _am.”_  
  
Octavia searched her eyes for a moment, and then she gave her the smallest of smiles. “So in all that time you tagged around with Lexa, did she ever tell you what a second was?”  
  
Confused, Clarke said, “Yes… Lexa was Anya’s second. It’s an apprentice, right? And the first is a mentor?”  
  
“If you think I’m going to let you be with my brother when you can’t even protect him, you’re more deluded than I ever thought,” Octavia told her, not saying whether she was right or wrong.  
  
“Octavia, what are you-”  
  
“You’re right about one thing, Clarke,” she said, her voice finally gentle. “You _do_ have strength. But you suck at fighting- like, a lot. Lucky for you, skill can be taught. Strength of spirit, though- you have to be born with _that._ If you’ve got it, you’ve got it. And you do. It just has to be guided.”  
  
“Why are you telling me all this?” Clarke asked, her frustration only growing.  
  
“First lesson,” Octavia said, holding up a hand. “Never question me.”  
  
Clarke frowned at her, but Octavia was smiling.  
  
“I’m going to make you my second, Clarke,” Octavia told her. “I’m going to train you. You’re going to learn to fight, to be a badass, and then you won’t be afraid of anything ever again. Or, even if you are, you’ll know how to get through it without running away. I _can’t_ let you do that again- it’ll destroy him.”  
  
“So _that’s_ why you’re doing this?” Clarke asked her, totally shocked by everything she was saying. She tried to read her, but the girl was an enigma.  
  
Octavia shrugged. “Does it matter?” When she saw the look on Clarke’s face she let out a long breath and allowed, “Maybe I’m doing it for Bell. Maybe I’m doing it for you. Or maybe I just need something to keep my mind off all the shit that’s happened in the last few weeks. Tell me, Clarke- does it _really_ matter? You don’t want to be afraid anymore, right? If I can teach you how to slay your demons, that’s going to benefit all _three_ of us. Now- do you want to be my second, or not?”  
  
Totally confused, Clarke just stared at her in disbelief. Then, finally, not knowing how on earth she was supposed to respond, she just said, “Okay.”


	61. 61- Bellamy

When he and Lia returned from their hunt with two rabbits and a boar, nothing could have prepared him for what he found in their camp.  
  
Octavia and Clarke were standing in the centre of the clearing, backlit by the fire, each holding big sticks that had been foraged from the surrounding woods. Octavia had her hands on Clarke’s hips, trying to get her to move her body a certain way. But then, abruptly, she circled around and started swinging the stick toward her, with Clarke seeming desperate to fend off the attack.  
  
Bellamy dropped the boar and hurried over, calling out his sister’s name angrily.  
  
But when he reached the two of them he saw that they were both smiling. There was a healthy glow to their cheeks, and both their chests were heaving just a little. It seemed like they’d been at this for quite some time.  
  
“Don’t worry, Bell, I’m not going to murder her,” Octavia said wryly, and Bellamy saw Clarke try to swallow an ironic smile of her own.  
  
Looking between the two of them, he slowly nodded. His eyes stayed on Clarke as he asked, “So… you’re good?”  
  
“She’s my second now,” Octavia said, and he caught the pride in her voice. “I’m training her to be a warrior, like Indra did for me. I figured it was high time she learned how to fight.”  
  
It was definitely a surprising revelation. He couldn’t help but think of the time he’d tried to teach Clarke to shoot, and the similarities between the two situations struck him as cute. He raised his eyebrows at both of them for a moment, not sure exactly _what_ to say, but he was just happy to see them getting along, and not at each other’s throats. Or, specifically, he was happy to see that Octavia wasn’t at _Clarke’s_ throat.  
  
“Okay then,” he said finally, smiling at them both. “Don't let me interrupt. We’ve got dinner but it has to be cooked, so carry on.”  
  
Lia had already ripped the pelts off the rabbits and was slicing up their meat. “I left the boar for you,” she told him.  
  
“Thanks,” he said dryly, reaching down and plucking a dart from the animal’s side. He spun the dart around in between his fingers for a moment, examining it apprehensively, thinking about how many might have been slid between Clarke’s fingers before he found her. “At least these are good for something.”  
  
“They are _good_ for many things,” she said with a frown.  
  
“No, I meant…” He set the dart down and just shook his head. “Nevermind.”  
  
Lia watched as Octavia and Clarke began sparring again, and Bellamy couldn’t help his eyes being drawn to the two of them as well. He noticed that Octavia had braided Clarke’s hair loosely at the sides- to keep it off her face, he guessed- and it reminded him of how she’d looked when he’d first seen her in Polis.  
  
His sigh must have been loud, because Lia arched an eyebrow at him and asked, “You do not approve? Learning to fight will make her strong.”  
  
Bellamy slit the boar’s stomach and yanked on its intestines, severing them and putting them aside. Finally he said, “She’s already strong.”  
  
As soon as the words left his lips, he was surprised by the pang he felt for Lincoln- the loss of that friendship, and the loss for Octavia. Would she get through this? _Really?_ What would happen when they finally stopped? In two days they would arrive in Camp Jaha, and his sister would be back in a place that she hated. But this time she would be alone. Even he wouldn't be able to be there for her while he was going through detox.  
  
He looked up again and watched as Octavia pinned Clarke to the ground, then offered her a hand up and told her, “You’re doing well. It’s okay to fall- just get back up again. That last move you did where you stepped left, that was smart. I didn’t see it coming.”  
  
With a small smile, he went back to working on the boar. Maybe she wouldn’t be so alone after all. He liked the idea of Clarke and Octavia mending their bridges. He knew his sister’s bridge was particularly rickety, and there was very little water under it. She and Clarke had always had a tumultuous relationship, with only a few moments here and there where they hadn’t been butting heads- much like _himself_ and Clarke, early on, he suddenly realised. But he wanted them to be friends. It would be beyond awkward, trying to date someone who his sister hated. He couldn't quite imagine how he could make that work. Maybe, with any luck, he would never have to try.  
  
When all the animals were cleaned and sectioned into small pieces, Lia laid out leaves and they wrapped the morsels up. He watched her sprinkle some kind of seasoning- strong-smelling spices- onto the meat before packing them up in the leaves and placing the bundles around the edges of the fire, letting the hot coals go to work on making them juicy.  
  
Octavia wrapped up her lesson with Clarke and they both came over to the fire, looking happy and vibrant. Bellamy met Clarke’s eyes and gave her a soft smile as he watched her continue on to the horses, no doubt to prepare his next injection of Red.  
  
He took the opportunity to beckon Octavia over, and when she sat next to him he asked quietly, “O… are you just doing this to be mean? Or are you actually trying to help?”  
  
She didn’t look offended or even surprised that he’d asked. “I’m being selfish,” she answered with a small shrug, her voice quiet too. “I’ve missed this- fighting, running around, being active. The moment I sit still, all I can think about…” She trailed off, but he knew what she meant without her having to say the words. She went on, “Besides, this thing with you, with the Red… it’s making me crazy. I hate that I can’t _do_ anything for you.”  
  
“Hey,” he said gently. “In two days we’ll be back in Camp Jaha. Clarke _will_ fix me up.” Octavia looked at him, and he could see the fear there in her gaze- underneath the anger, underneath the stubbornness. Firmly he said, “I’ll be fine.”  
  
“Well, in the meantime, I can’t think about it.” She shrugged. “And this helps.”  
  
He could understand that. Even in Camp Jaha, she was always ducking the fence and running off, always restless. But he couldn’t help asking, “And Clarke?”  
  
Octavia let out a long breath and frowned into the fire for a moment before finally she said, “When she walked away… that was her giving up. It was all too much and she just had to avoid it all, right? But now that we’ve got her back, she’s still… well, just look at her, and you can see- she’s tormented. Guilty. Still weighed down by everything.” She shook her head. “But she’s _stronger_ than that, Bell. She’s _better_ than that. We both _know_ she is- but I think she’s forgotten. Or she’s too scared to feel it anymore.”  
  
Sighing again, Octavia continued, “When I felt like I had no place in the world, nowhere to belong… that’s when Indra came and offered me the chance to be her second. And it was great- knowing how to defend myself, to fight, to learn more on top of what Lincoln had already taught me… I loved it. But even more than learning the skills, it gave me a _purpose._ A way to find myself again, to figure out who _I_ am.” She shrugged. “Maybe that’s what Clarke needs now.”  
  
Before he could answer, Clarke returned to them and both Blakes fell silent and looked up at her. Octavia stood and said, “Again? First thing tomorrow?”  
  
“Okay,” Clarke answered, nodding her head. When Octavia moved off, disappearing into the woods, Clarke looked to Bellamy and said, “She kicked my ass… but she didn’t yell at me once. We actually had some fun.”  
  
“After you’ve been stuck in a room for sixteen years, I think even a little restlessness will make you crazy,” he said with a wry smile. “She’s always in a better mood after she burns off some steam.”  
  
“I guess you were right about one thing,” Clarke said. “She really doesn’t hate me. I was so sure she did.”  
  
“Yeah, well, you don’t know her like I do,” he said gently. Reaching for Clarke’s hand, he intertwined their fingers gently, and then looked into her eyes. Clarke gave him a soft smile, gently squeezing his hand. He was aware of Lia’s presence at the periphery of their moment; she was being absolutely silent, but her company was still intrusive. All Bellamy wanted to do was pull Clarke close, kiss her, but it felt strange to even consider doing that in front of the shadow child.  
  
“I have your next dose,” Clarke told him, heaving a heavy sigh.  
  
“Hey,” he said, curling his fingers under her chin and raising her eyes to him. “Soon this will be over. We’ll be back in Camp Jaha… no more Red.”  
  
“I can’t wait,” she said, and then she hesitated. They lost eye contact as she asked quietly, “How do you think people will react when we get back there?”  
  
He stroked her cheek with his thumb, wanting to smooth away the heartache and apprehension he saw in her expression. Gently he said, “They love you, Clarke. They’ll be glad to see you.”  
  
“Even after… everything?”  
  
“Everything was a long time ago,” he said with a small sigh. “I think most people understand why you left, even if it hurt. And hey, if _I_ can forgive you… if _O_ can forgive you… you have nothing got worry about,” he teased lightly.  
  
Clarke laughed, but then grew serious again almost immediately as she shook her head. “I’m just scared of that moment I walk through the gates- seeing everyone again, seeing their faces.”  
  
“But when you do, we’re going to be walking through those gates _together,”_ he promised her, squeezing her hand. “Besides, it’s not like they haven’t had time to prepare. We left weeks and weeks ago to come find you. Hell, some of them probably figure we’re dead. They’ll be so relieved just to see us that they won’t even remember they were ever mad at you.”  
  
He was trying to lighten the mood, make her feel better, but what he said was also true. It had been so long since they had actually been in Camp Jaha, and there had been nothing but support and well wishes when they’d left to bring Clarke home. He knew she was worried about it, but he was certain she’d be welcomed with open arms.  
  
Clarke tapped the injector and said, “We should get this done.”  
  
Bellamy nodded, his eyes flickering to Lia for a moment, whose silent but somehow very obvious existence was putting him on edge. “Can we go somewhere private?” he asked Clarke. “I don’t like everyone crowded around me when I have it.”  
  
Her smile was sympathetic, tender, as she nodded. “Of course,” she said, standing up with him. He let her lead him into the forest, to a spot not too far from camp, where they could still see the light of the fire through the trees, but far enough away that he felt less exposed.  
  
Clarke primed the injector, but before she could raise it, he reached his hand out and covered hers with it. She seemed startled and he realised she thought he was going to try to take it, so hurriedly he pulled his hand back and explained, “Sorry. I was just thinking, let’s wait a minute. I hate how I get- all stupid and out of it.”  
  
“You’re not stupid, Bellamy,” she said gently, but she tucked the injector away. “It’s a powerful drug. You can’t help your reaction.”  
  
He’d never been happier that she was a doctor- or at least, close enough. That she got it- his addiction, how horrible it was, how out of his control. He didn’t know what he would have done if she blamed him, or judged him, or made him feel even more ashamed than he already was. Not Clarke.  
  
Taking her forearms gently in his hands, he pulled her close to him and looked into her eyes again. He watched as she rolled her eyes playfully. “I thought we agreed this was a bad idea?” she asked him. “Your heart-”  
  
“My heart can handle more than you give it credit,” he interrupted her gently. “I’m still alive, right?” When she started to frown in response, he sighed and decided to tease her, attempting to lighten the mood. “Come on, Clarke, you’re not going to make me _beg_ you to make out with me, are you? Because that would be a first for me.”  
  
Her frown began to deepen, but as he stroked his fingertips against the sensitive skin at the inside of her arms, her forehead smoothed out again and her lips curled into the softest of smiles. He saw her tip her chin up just a little, as though not even consciously meaning to, and he knew she wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss her, despite her protests about his heart. He couldn’t help a sly grin as he realised he had, again, learned how to read her every nuanced expression.  
  
He hadn't enjoyed feeling slightly out of touch, as though in her absence she'd morphed into someone else, an enigma that he couldn't know. But now he was sure- under all that pain, that fear and heartache, she was still Clarke, and he still knew her. Now he could see plainly what she wanted, and he was glad she was thinking of exactly the same thing that he was.  
  
Bringing up a hand against the side of her face, he gently stroked his thumb across her cheek and then leaned in, closing his eyes, kissing her tenderly.  
  
Clarke took a half-step closer to him, pressing her chest against his, and he wrapped his arms around her to keep her close, feeling her hands wind around his neck as she opened her lips to him. Again, he felt an electric jolt pass between them as the kiss deepened, and he felt Clarke jump suddenly, almost in time with him, and he knew that she, too, had felt it. It was all he could do to just kiss her and not grin into her lips like an idiot.  
  
Apparently he didn’t totally succeed in hiding his reaction, because she broke away from him, smiling wryly. “What?” she demanded.  
  
“Nothing,” he assured her, sliding his fingers into her hair and pulling her close again, not ready to let go of that feeling of their lips moving against each other, their tongues twining together. The only reason to stop that seemed legitimate was the need for oxygen, and even that felt like a chore. He leaned his forehead against hers, sliding his fingertips under her shirt and resting them on the softness of her lower back, just enjoying being so close to her- finally alone.  
  
“When we get back to Camp Jaha…” she trailed off, her voice soft, as she seemed to enjoy their closeness as much as he did.  
  
“Yeah?” he asked gently.  
  
There was something romantic about her warm breath tickling his cheek as she spoke, drawing attention to their proximity. She only had to use the faintest of whispers as she said, “When we get back there, this- us- what's it going to be?”  
  
He let out a soft laugh that made a few tendrils of her hair tremble with the force of his breath. Looking into her eyes, he said, “Whatever you want it to be.”  
  
Clarke smiled, and she wrapped her hands around his and squeezed. “This,” she said. “I want this.”  
  
“Me too,” he answered honestly, feeling his heart beating just a little bit faster. He knew he was probably starting to feel the effects of how long it had been since his last dose of Red, but in that moment, his heart was beating only for Clarke.  
  
“We should get this done,” she said again softly, as though reading his mind.  
  
Reluctantly they pulled apart, and she retrieved the injector, sliding the needle into his neck. He tried to focus on the pads of her fingers against his neck as she felt his pulse, tried to notice the softness of her skin, the firm pressure she applied, for as long as possible before finally the drug overwhelmed him and he sank to the ground, feeling blissful and disgusted at the same time.  
  
Clarke stayed with him, stroking her fingers through his curls, making sure he wasn’t alone, until he was fully back to normal, and then she helped him back to his feet. He met her gaze reluctantly, but saw no judgment there, and the gratitude he felt for that almost overwhelmed him.  
  
When she started immediately to turn back towards the campsite, he found himself reaching out, grabbing her and pulling her close. He wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest, and the slight tension in her body told him she was torn between relaxing into his embrace and keeping her distance while he was feeling the full force of the Red. The drug seemed only to intensify the sensations of her body, as well as the intoxicating smell of her hair, and Bellamy had to pull away when he realised that- very soon- he might not be able to let go. Quickly he said, “Let’s go back,” and he thought she looked relieved as she nodded her head.  
  
Octavia was already back by the time they returned to camp, and she tracked their movements with her eyes as they sat down and picked up portions of the meat that Lia had cooked up, which smelled absolutely delicious. Clarke opted for rabbit, and Bellamy for the boar.  
  
From across the fire Bellamy met his sister’s gaze, and he raised his brows at her just a little, checking in with her.  
  
She flicked her eyes to the sky and shrugged subtly, telling him that she knew _exactly_ what he and Clarke were up to, and she didn’t like it one bit, thank you very much.  
  
Tilting his head slightly to the side, he gave her an ‘oh come on’ look. A tiny smile curled the edges of Octavia’s lips- just for a moment, and then it was gone.  
  
“Eat your damn food already,” she said with mock grumpiness, making both Clarke and Lia shoot her perplexed looks.  
  
Bellamy laughed softly to himself, shaking his head, and then he dug into his food. The meat was so soft it practically melted in his mouth, and he couldn't help but pick up a small morsel, offering it to Clarke. “It’s good,” he said, holding it close to her lips.  
  
She seemed surprised, then flushed a little with embarrassment, but there was a smile on her lips as she parted them and allowed him to pop the small piece of meat into her mouth. “Oh my God,” she remarked. “That’s amazing.”  
  
“There is much to go around,” Lia told them. “And I preserved half the kill in salt for us to eat tomorrow.”  
  
“Yummy,” Octavia deadpanned, causing both Bellamy and Clarke to laugh in unison, and then turn to each other, both of them smiling.  
  
Octavia made a face, but Bellamy could see the smile underneath it as she said, “You guys are disgusting.”  
  
That night, lying on his furs between his sister and Clarke, he gazed up at the stars and thought about everything that was now behind them- the things they’d seen, done… the things that had been done _to_ them. He thought about how Clarke had said she wanted something good to come out of all this, and he’d assured her that something good _had._ He’d been talking about this thing that was growing between them, this thing that he had started to rely on, to look forward to.  
  
Any fleeting feelings or moments of attraction that they’d shared before now had been just that- fleeting. It wasn’t until they were challenged and pushed that they were forced to realise just how much they meant to one another, or _could_ mean to each other. Bellamy wasn’t at all happy about all the suffering they’d had to endure, but he was glad that- if suffering had to happen- at least _this_ had come out of it.  
  
So, when Clarke woke him later that night by rolling into him and laying her head on his chest, he was more than happy to fold her into his arms and press his lips to her forehead. Her contented sigh lulled him back to sleep with a smile on his face.


	62. 62- Clarke

Awareness came slowly to Clarke as sleep started to gradually slip away. She felt cocooned in warmth, the furs curled around her feet and tucked close to her back like a nest. Beneath her cheek was soft cotton covering a firm chest, and as she slowly opened her eyes she watched as the world rose and fell ever so subtly, like the forest around them was breathing.  
  
But it was Bellamy who was breathing, and as she turned her face up, she saw that he was still asleep. His heartbeat under her ear still had that strange skipping pattern, like it couldn’t make up its mind whether to continue beating or just stop- _keep going, keep going,_ she willed it like a prayer. _We’re nearly home._  
  
His face was peaceful, serene almost, his black curls disheveled across his brow. Being outdoors for so long had brought out the darkness of his skin more, and the contrast of her honey-gold tan against his olive skin tone was obvious. His smattering of freckles, which seemed to have multiplied and grown even more abundant, gave him a boyish look, particularly while he slept. The half moons of his lashes sat against his cheeks, soft and long. She gave a small smile to the dimple in his chin, the most obvious common trait between him and Octavia.  
  
Lastly she looked at his mouth, the gentle but defined dip between the two even swells of his upper lip, and the way they sat against the soft pillow of his lower lip. His lips were fuller than hers, and when he kissed her she felt enveloped by them, so much so that it made her melt.  
  
Clarke enjoyed this rare moment of being able to examine every subtle detail of his face, enjoyed the fact that she had time to do anything at all besides adhere to her usual routine of stress, fear, run. Finally, though, the moment had to end, but she couldn’t complain. As if sensing her gaze on him, Bellamy’s eyes slowly opened and he didn’t seem surprised at all to have her staring up at him from her resting place on his chest.  
  
He licked those lips she’d just been admiring, turned up their corners, and said gently, ”Hey.”  
  
“Hey,” she answered, returning the smile. “Sleep well?”  
  
“Actually yeah,” he said. “You?”  
  
She nodded, and their smiles only grew as they kept looking at each other, until Clarke heard the very distinct sound of a throat being cleared. She and Bellamy turned their heads in unison and found Octavia standing nearby, arms over her chest, eyes slightly narrowed, the two big sticks from the night before threaded through her elbows.  
  
“You’re late,” she said to Clarke. “We said first thing in the morning.”  
  
“O,” Bellamy warned. “This _is_ first thing in the morning. We just woke up.”  
  
“A warrior rises with the sun,” Octavia said to Clarke, ignoring her brother. “Especially when she’s still in training.”  
  
“And doesn’t a _warrior_ also need breakfast?” Bellamy asked grumpily. “It’s the most important meal of that day, right? That’s what Mom always said.”  
  
She scowled at him as though using their mother’s words against her was unfair, but even Clarke could see that her glare wasn’t serious. “Fine,” she said, nodding her head to Clarke. “Eat, then join me at our stump.”  
  
Clarke watched as she disappeared into the forest like a ghost, not making a sound, and she couldn't help but think of Anya, the way she’d complained about Clarke’s inability to walk silently in the woods, as though even a baby could do such a simple thing. Maybe Octavia could teach her that too.  
  
“You have a stump?” Bellamy asked wryly. “Should I be jealous?”  
  
“Of who?” Clarke answered, rolling her eyes “Me, or Octavia?”  
  
He laughed softly, shaking his head. “I don’t know… both?”  
  
With a sigh she sat up, and he seemed to be just as reluctant as he did the same, rubbing his eyes. “Let’s get some food before she drags me into the woods by my hair,” Clarke joked, though she wouldn't have put it past the younger girl. The moment she’d agreed to be Octavia’s second, she’d been positively gleeful as she instructed Clarke in fighting stance, weapons use, stealth, and self-defense.  
  
Bellamy reached out and coiled one of her braids around his index finger, giving it a gentle tug. “That looks good on you,” he said. “Suits you.”  
  
Clarke felt herself blushing, thinking of the elaborate styles Yana used to create with her hair, and then she couldn’t help but think of Octavia’s words the day before, about how she had let herself be coddled and pampered. Gingerly she extracted the braid from his grasp and said softly, “Thanks.”  
  
“Lia’s not here,” Bellamy said suddenly, obvious surprise in his voice as he looked around the campsite.  
  
“I guess she’s not as worried about watching us so closely, now that she’s on our side,” Clarke pointed out, getting to her feet and heading for the saddlebags. She pulled out the injector first, wanting to get that over with before Octavia came back looking for her.  
  
Bellamy cringed when he saw it in her hand. “Can’t we wait a while?” he asked apprehensively.  
  
“Look at the sun,” Clarke said gently. “We slept in. You’re already late.”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” he protested. When he looked at her she saw the vulnerability in his eyes as he said, “Please, Clarke… after we eat?”  
  
“Okay,” she relented, putting the injector away and joining him, sitting close enough that their thighs touched. As Lia had promised, breakfast was an incredibly salty meal of preserved meat, but they ate it without complaining. It was a very quiet breakfast, followed by a quiet visit to the woods with Bellamy to give him his dose of Red.  
  
At least tomorrow they would be in Camp Jaha. She could hardly believe it, and she was still nervous, but some of that had been quelled by Bellamy’s reassurance that most people would feel happy about her homecoming. Underneath her fear, her nerves, she was slowly becoming excited.  
  
Another long day lay ahead of them, and it consisted mostly of tending the horses, making small talk with each other, and giving Bellamy his regular doses of Red. It was monotonous, but they all knew that with every step the horses took, they were getting closer to home.  
  
When Lia declared, “This is the beginning of _Trikru_ land,” Clarke looked to the Blakes and the three of them exchanged matching expressions of total bemusement. It was hard to believe this was really true- they were really back here. Sure enough, their path soon led them over the crest of the hill, and down into thick forest. Octavia seemed the most excited about this, but even Clarke and Bellamy tossed enthusiastic glances back and forth more than once as they breathed in the scent of the woods. Clarke was relieved that it was still familiar.  
  
Occasionally they broke through the treeline and were met with relatively flat clearings, often sighting herds of deer that they had no need to shoot, knowing they would be home so soon. Clarke just enjoyed the beauty of the animals- yes, a few were marred by radiation, but many weren’t, and even those who had defects seemed able to keep up with the rest.  
  
The sun was low on the horizon when they emerged into another clearing similar to the others, except this one held no deer on nimble legs, only soft and silent curls of black smoke rising out of a scene of terrible destruction.  
  
They all pulled their horses up and just stared- there had once been a village here, as the skeletons of houses and other buildings attested, but it had been razed, burned to the ground. The smouldering told them that this had been a recent change.  
  
Clarke met Bellamy’s eyes and she could see that he felt as uneasy as she did as everyone slid off their horses, leaving them to graze.  
  
“We should keep moving,” Lia urged, looking at Clarke as she spoke. “This is not our concern.”  
  
“We need to look for survivors,” Octavia said shortly. “Just in case.”  
  
“What the hell is this?” Bellamy asked. As his sister charged toward the rubble he rushed after her and grabbed her arm, holding her back for a moment. Clarke hurried to both of them, Lia training behind, clearly still not liking this. Bellamy said urgently to Octavia, “Just stay together.”  
  
“Where are we?” Clarke asked Lia.  
  
“I do not know the name of this village,” she said. “Only that it is marks the westernmost border. We should be cautious… we do not know enough about what’s happened. We should not linger here.”  
  
“We’ll be quick,” Clarke said. “Octavia’s right, we have to look for survivors.”  
  
“We do not _have_ to do anything of the sort,” Lia answered, her face sour. Clarke ignored her, and she joined Bellamy as he stood at the outermost edge of the demolished town. She watched him reluctantly let go of his sister’s arm, watched his eyes trace her movements through the ruined structures.  
  
“There’s no one alive here,” Bellamy said, very quietly. “Should I stop her?”  
  
Clarke looked to Octavia, studied her face, the way she picked up debris and toed through it, searching for life. “No,” she said finally. “Let her look.”  
  
It was an hour before Octavia was satisfied, but she returned to them with a calm expression on her face. Bellamy seemed relieved that she wasn’t devastated at the fact that she hadn’t found anyone. Clarke understood that it was the act of looking that she had needed- to know for sure that she had done all she could.  
  
A somber mood fell over the group as they retrieved their horses and mounted them again. For a long moment everyone just looked at the village, the quiet billowing of the smoke.  
  
“In less than two weeks the forest will have reclaimed this place,” Lia spoke up, breaking the silence. “All that we see will be gone, and the soil will be lush and fertile for years.”  
  
No one seemed interested in responding to that, so she tried again, “This is borderland, and such villages are always attacked first. Their deaths were the sacrifice that alerted the _Trikru_ to the coming war. They will be remembered.”  
  
Octavia was the first to turn her horse away from the village, and then Clarke did the same, feeling Bellamy fall into step behind her. From up ahead, a breeze whipped back the sound of Octavia’s voice, soft and resigned, as she said, “And look at the thanks they got.” Clarke could hear the heaviness in her words, and she couldn’t help but feel the same.  
  
War was coming, and no one was safe. Why should they be any different?


	63. 63- Bellamy

For the second day in a row, he woke to the feeling of Clarke’s cheek against his chest, her body pressed close to his, her soft breaths tickling his neck. But this time he was the first to wake, and he smiled softly down at her, reaching his hand up and gently threading his fingers through the long blonde waves. The messy braids Octavia had placed near her face were still there, half undone, and there was the occasional leaf or twig snagged in amongst the strands. Still, he marveled at how soft her hair was, like silk.  
  
Bellamy wanted to just lay here forever, to watch her face as she slept- calm and serene. But on this particular morning, his cravings felt much worse than usual. It was as though his body somehow knew that they were going home today, that he would soon be detoxing and there would be no more Red.  
  
Clarke had voiced her own apprehension about going back to Camp Jaha, but Bellamy had plenty of fears too, almost all of which centred around the detoxification process. He tried to ignore them, but he was scared. What would people think of what he’d become? Would Abby help him? Would she and Clarke be able to keep him alive? How badly would it hurt? How out of it would he feel? Would he hurt someone in the process? Would Octavia be okay without him for as long as it took?  
  
He remembered how, while he and Lincoln walked together to Mount Weather, he’d asked the older man how much he remembered about the time he’d been on the drug- what he’d done, how he’d behaved, who he’d hurt. When he’d seen Lincoln on it, Bellamy had just assumed that the Red made a person so out of it that they couldn’t even see properly, let alone understand what was really going on or what they were doing. But Lincoln had answered and told him that he remembered everything, and that the drug was so powerful that nothing else mattered to him- or to anyone else who was on it- besides getting more Red.  
  
At the time, Bellamy had been disturbed by the revelation. But now he understood firsthand just how that felt, and it was horrendous. He couldn’t help but think of how horrible detox had been for Lincoln, how much it had hurt him, how he’d broken free and attacked Bellamy, attacked Clarke, attacked _Octavia_ even, despite how much he’d loved her. When Bellamy went through the same process, would he hurt people who he loved, too? Would he even survive?  
  
Clarke’s hand was suddenly resting against his cheek, startling him for a moment, and then he saw her blue eyes looking up at him in concern. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head as if he could shake away al those bad thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He softened his expression and turned his face, kissing her palm and making her smile. “Sleep well?”  
  
“Very,” she answered. “Especially because I know that tonight we’re all going to be sleeping in real beds.”  
  
Tonight, Bellamy would be restrained and senseless, biting any hand that came near him, his body sweating and convulsing, his cravings for the Red so bad that he’d want to do anything- _anything-_ to stop them.  
  
But he just pushed all those thoughts away and said, “Sounds great.”  
  
Clarke seemed to sense that he wasn’t being totally honest, but he laced his fingers through hers and squeezed, and they both pretended nothing was wrong.  
  
After they ate, Clarke led him into the forest where they could have privacy while she gave him his Red. He could feel himself already anticipating it, his body coaxing him to walk faster, get that drug into his system as quickly as possible, start feeling good- as though that was all that mattered in the world. The rational part of his mind was disgusted and ashamed, but the base part- the primal part that was fully addicted- only screamed for more.  
  
“Hey,” Clarke said, touching his forearm lightly, frowning at him in concern. He wondered how long she’d been talking to him.  
  
“Sorry,” he said, a slow blush creeping into his cheeks. “What?”  
  
She frowned, watching him carefully. He knew her trained eye would pick up everything- the slight tremble of his hands, the dilation of his pupils, the dryness of his mouth, the tiny beads of sweat erupting on his forehead.  
  
“Hurry up,” he said, without meaning to.  
  
Clarke pulled out the injector, but her frown had only deepened and she gazed at it for a moment before she said, “Bellamy-”  
  
“Clarke, _hurry up,”_ he snapped, the squeezed his eyes closed, taking a deep breath that turned shaky. “Sorry.”  
  
Gently she said, “It’s fine. It’s just… lately you’ve needed a little bit more to get the same response.”  
  
“You upped my dose?” he asked apprehensively, his rational mind taking over for a moment as he looked at her.  
  
She seemed guilty as she nodded and explained, “It was the only way to get your heart rate back to normal. I didn’t want to worry you.”  
  
“Clarke, I need to know this stuff,” he urged her. “Don’t tell O and don’t tell Lia, but you _have_ to tell me. The cravings are worse. I need to know what’s going on so I don't hurt you.”  
  
“It’s okay,” she said gently, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze. “I know you won’t.”  
  
“Don’t _say_ that,” he said, irritated, jerking away from her. “If I get too hopped up on the drug, I _will_ hurt you. You _and_ Octavia.” Again he said, “You need to tell me this stuff, Clarke.”  
  
“Okay, I will,” she assured him. “I promise. Sorry I didn’t.”  
  
He pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly, nodding. “Let’s get this over with so my sister doesn’t make you do a thousand pushups, or whatever it is firsts do to their seconds when they disappoint them.”  
  
Clarke smiled wryly, seeming glad for the change of subject, and then she nodded. “Okay,” she said, priming the injector. She waited for him to sit back against the nearest tree and then she knelt next to him, finding the pulse with her free hand and using the other to carefully slide the needle into the opposite side of his neck.  
  
The puncture never hurt anymore, which he considered a bad thing. Before he could even feel the prick of the needle, his body was already releasing endorphins so all he felt was satisfying anticipation. Then, when Clarke applied light pressure to the trigger and the drug started seeping into his veins, his eyes rolled back into his head and he felt like he was riding on wave after wave of pleasure. It felt too good now for him to even have room for shame, and he just enjoyed himself for those few blissful minutes that were over far too fast.  
  
When he opened his eyes- having some difficulty due to the heaviness of his eyelids- he looked up at Clarke through his eyelashes and he saw her carefully monitoring his pulse. The look of concentration on her face was adorable, and he couldn’t help but think how beautiful she was, how smart and skilled she looked, how grateful he was to her for taking care of him like this, giving him this. He felt her extract the needle from his neck and again there was no pain, just the brief sensation of pulling and then nothing.  
  
“Clarke,” he said softly, his voice sounding strange to his own ears- lethargic, a bit sluggish. She met his gaze, and her eyes were like the bluest sky he’d ever seen. Bellamy reached for her, curling his hand into the small of her back and pulling her close until her forehead was pressed against his.  
  
“Hey,” she replied, just as softly. He wanted to kiss her so badly, and as soon as the thought popped into his head, his eyes dropped to her lips and he licked his own without even meaning to.  
  
Clarke frowned suddenly as she seemed to read his mind. Gingerly she pulled away from him and stood up. “No,” she said gently. “Come on, I’ll stay with you until you feel better, but then we have to go back to camp.”  
  
Bellamy grabbed her calf and held on, but the strength of his grip was at odds with how loose and calm his body felt. “I do feel better,” he told her. “I feel great.”  
  
Clarke bent down to pry his fingers from her leg and he grabbed her upper arm, pulling her all the way down and into his lap, his arms winding around her waist. Her hands came up and pushed against his chest. “Bellamy, don’t.” When he didn’t make a move to let her go she said forcefully, _“Stop!”_  
  
“No,” he answered evenly, annoyed- if she’d just cuddle with him, let him kiss her, everything would be fine. She smelled so good, her body was so soft and luscious, and he just wanted to hold her. Maybe they’d see where things would go from there, but for right now she was irritating him, struggling in his grasp. Her attempts to escape only made him hold on harder. “Why are you acting like this?” he demanded, his voice angrier than he intended.  
  
_“You’re_ the one acting strange,” she retorted, and he wasn’t sure if it was anger or fear that coloured her voice, but either one of them made him feel horrible, rejected.  
  
“Clarke,” he said firmly, undoing any progress she’d made in extracting herself from his arms as he hauled her closer, her strength no match for his. She was ruining everything- if only she’d be still. She was even taking away the pleasure of the drug, distracting him from his little pocket of bliss. He could feel the quickness of her breath with her chest pressed against his, could feel the fast pace of her heart. He anchored a hand in her hair and drew her lips against his.  
  
The next thing he knew he felt a punch to his throat, then another quick jab to the softness of his stomach, then the sensitive middle of his sternum. His hands relaxed and Clarke threw herself backward, putting herself far out of his reach.  
  
The pain overwhelmed his pleasure and the final effects of the drug wore off, jolting him back into full consciousness. Angrily Bellamy looked around for his attacker, but he saw no one.  
  
His eyes flew to Clarke and he saw her hands still curled tightly, her eyes wide and full of determination.  
  
Guilt slammed into him harder than any fist and he swallowed, glancing away from her, slowly getting to his feet. It broke his heart when she took a step back but he forced his voice to be normal as he said, “I’m good. I’m good now.”  
  
“Are you sure you're okay?” she asked cautiously, not moving.  
  
“Did my sister teach you that?” he asked her, finally brave enough to meet her eyes again. Maybe she saw his absolute embarrassment and remorse there, because her whole body softened as she nodded her head. “Good,” he managed. “You should keep learning.” He turned back to their camp.  
  
“Wait,” Clarke stopped him hastily, and she hurried over, sliding her palm along his arm. The feeling of electric sparks followed the path of her touch, but only the normal amount he was now used to with her, not the jolts that had ben enhanced by the Red.  
  
With a heavy sigh he turned back to her, taking her hand from his arm and giving it a squeeze as his eyes fell to the forest floor. “Sorry,” he murmured.  
  
“It’s okay,” she said, squeezing back. “I should have been more careful.”  
  
“No, no, don’t do that, it was me,” he protested immediately, shaking his head. _“I_ should have been more careful.”  
  
“It’s not you, Bellamy.” Her voice was so gentle it drew his eyes back to her, and he was relieved to see that- yet again- there was only understanding in her expression. No blame, no anger, no disgust. “It’s not you,” she said again. “It’s just the drug.”  
  
“No more,” he told her firmly. “Or go back to the lower dose. That was too…” He trailed off, not wanting to finish that sentence.  
  
“We’ll be at Camp Jaha by sundown,” she said gently. “There are only a few more doses between now and then. We’ll just be more careful.”  
  
Drawing in a deep breath, he nodded. “Let’s just get back.”  
  
Clarke followed him to the camp and made sure he was settled, and then she walked off into the woods to find Octavia. He knew they wouldn't be long, that all of them were eager to get on the road.  
  
Bellamy sat down heavily on a log by the fire and glared into the hot coals, feeling vile and guilty. Without anyone there to distract him, reassure him, he could only hear his own thoughts. He was a monster. A drug addict. One of _those_ men. His mother would have been ashamed of him, seeing him like this.  
  
“You seem disturbed,” Lia spoke up, and he jumped a little because he hadn’t noticed her sitting there.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “I am.” He tossed a glance in her direction and saw her intense blue eyes staring at him in that way they did- unblinking, like a crocodile. He was still grateful to her for all that she’d done for them, but he could do without her presence right now, that cold and calculated little-  
  
Bellamy straightened suddenly and looked at her properly. “Hey,” he said. “I need you do something for me.”  
  
Lia seemed surprised, but she just tilted her head to the side and asked, “What?”  
  
“I want you to watch me,” he told her. “This drug is messing with my head more and more, and I need you to make sure I don't do anything crazy.”  
  
“Crazy,” she repeated. “Can you be more specific?”  
  
He let out a frustrated breath but tried to be patient. “Yeah. Crazy. I need you to make sure I don’t hurt either of them.”  
  
“You are _all_ under my protection,” she reminded him.  
  
“Great,” he said. “Just prioritise _them._ If you see me do something that isn’t right, something that could hurt either of them- you need to put me down. Okay?”  
  
“Put you down?”  
  
He wondered if she was being purposefully dense. _“Yes,”_ he said impatiently. “You know, with one of those darts you have. Like you did with O.”  
  
“They are not meant for emergencies. Sometimes they do not work fast enough.”  
  
He had reached about the end of his tolerance. “Then use your knife,” he snapped. “Do whatever you have to do, okay? Just don’t let me hurt them.”  
  
Lia said nothing for a moment, and then she shrugged. “Very well. I will do what you ask. Whatever I have to.”  
  
Bellamy eyed her uncertainly, feeling momentarily unsure of whether that had been a good idea or not, but he still believed what he’d told Clarke- the kid was direct. She wouldn’t say something she didn’t mean.  
  
“Good,” he said, nodding his head, turning his attention back to the dying fire.  
  
He calmed down, hoping that would be the end, but it wasn’t. After a momentary pause Lia said, “So now your thoughtless and impulsive love extends to Clarke as well.”  
  
He couldn't help a small chuckle as he shrugged a little. “I just need them to live.”  
  
“Even if it means losing your _own_ life?” she asked him curiously.  
  
Bellamy shrugged again. “Let’s hope it doesn’t. But I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt them anyway.” He looked at Lia and said, “I’d regret it too much, like you with that boy Kol you told me about.”  
  
She seemed to consider that for a long moment, and then she nodded her head. “You are _all_ under my protection,” she reminded him again. “But I will put Octavia and Clarke first. If it comes to it, I give you my word that I will kill you.”  
  
Oddly relieved, Bellamy let out a long breath. It sounded so strange when the only word that came to his lips was, “Thanks.”


	64. 64- Octavia

She’d been right about one thing- three days had passed, and other than the time they’d stumbled onto the remnants of that destroyed village, nothing had gone wrong. No one had died or even been injured, no one had been attacked, and everyone had been relatively civil to one another. _Maybe too civil,_ Octavia thought, glancing forward at her brother and Clarke as they rode together, the flanks of their horses almost touching. Every once in a while they would lock eyes and she saw the tiniest of smiles curl across their lips.  
  
It wasn’t that she was against their relationship- she wasn’t, not really. But she was worried about how it had come about… Clarke was obviously suffering from serious trauma, and Bellamy too considering what he’d been through. And now her brother was hooked on a drug so destructive that it was slowly killing him. Clarke, meanwhile, was the one who injected him every few hours with the thing his body craved most. It was not the healthiest of beginnings.  
  
In the Sky Box, there had been drug addicts. So she didn’t know a lot, but she knew enough. She hoped what Clarke and Bellamy were building was something that could outlast all this, but it was hard to imagine them in the camp, being together. What would that look like? Even she and Lincoln had had problems inside Camp Jaha as a couple, and she’d always thought of her relationship as being so solid.  
  
A small smile crossed her lips as she suddenly realised that hers and Lincoln’s beginnings were no less strange than Bellamy and Clarke’s. After all, sometimes it was the most difficult situations that bonded people.  
  
Octavia looked down at the reins in her hand, frowning. What if this _did_ last? Was she ready to let her brother go? He would never leave her completely, but if he and Clarke continued, she knew that Clarke would become more and more important to him every day. The jealous part of her didn’t want that to be true, but she knew it was. Bellamy had been the centre of her world for sixteen years, and yet when she’d fallen for Lincoln, her priorities had shifted abruptly. That’s just what love did.  
  
“Are you okay?” Clarke asked suddenly from beside Octavia, making her jump. She hadn’t realised that the older girl had paused her horse to wait for her, falling into step beside her.  
  
“I’m fine,” Octavia said, not liking being surprised. “Why wouldn't I be?”  
  
“You just let out a huge sigh,” Clarke said, looking at her quizzically.  
  
“I did?” Octavia shrugged. “Well I’m fine.”  
  
Giving her a nod, Clarke didn’t ask any further questions, and for a few minutes they rode together in silence. Finally Clarke said, “I can’t believe how soon we’re going to be there… it still doesn’t feel real. I haven’t even thought about what I’m going to say to my mom.”  
  
Octavia glanced sideways at her. “You’ll know when you see her.”  
  
“I hope so.”  
  
“When we stop to give Bellamy his Red, we should train a little more,” Octavia said. Unlike everyone else, she was in no hurry to return to camp. She could picture vividly just how she and Lincoln had left their tent, and she was dreading seeing it again. The more they delayed, the better.  
  
But Clarke just shook her head. “No, we should push on, get there before nightfall.”  
  
Disappointed but resigned, Octavia nodded and said, “Okay.”  
  
“When we’re back there, though, you’ll train me?” Clarke asked her.  
  
Her words drew a smile back to Octavia’s lips. “So you are enjoying it.”  
  
“Yeah, I am,” she answered, returning the smile. “I really am. It’s nice not to feel helpless.”  
  
“Now we just need to find someone for you to practice on,” Octavia said with a nod. “Not just me… I mean someone you actually have to fight. Someone who could hurt you if you don’t stick up for yourself. That’s the only way to know.”  
  
Clarke’s smile seemed to disappear from her lips for the briefest of moments, but then she forced it back into place and said, “Great.”  
  
The next few hours passed in silence, and it was time to stop for Bellamy’s dose of Red. Lia brought out the last of their food, and Bellamy walked to the other side of the clearing while Clarke prepared his dose. “This will be the last one, hopefully,” she murmured softly to Octavia as she slid a vial into the injector. “We’ll be back soon.”  
  
Octavia nodded, sitting down on the ground and eating, watching Clarke go to Bellamy and speak softly to him before the two of them walked into the forest together.  
  
“Perhaps I should follow them,” Lia said.  
  
“Why would you do that?” Octavia asked. She was secretly grateful that the two of them always went off alone to get it done- she knew it wasn’t Bellamy’s fault, but it made her feel scared and sick in the pit of her stomach, watching him succumb to that drug over and over.  
  
“He knows it is his last dose,” Lia explained with a shrug. “He may panic. I will follow them and make sure he doesn’t hurt her.” Before Octavia could say anything either way, she rose to her feet and disappeared into the trees.  
  
She pulled out one of her and Clarke’s sticks- really missing her sword now- and started sparring with a tree, pretending it was a warrior attacking. She lunged, parried, attacked and defended for what seemed like a very long time.  
  
Peering in the direction the others had gone, Octavia looked for any sign that they might be on their way back, but the trees were silent and still. She felt her curiosity pass into annoyance, and then into concern, as she waited and waited.  
  
Where were they? What was going on? Had Bellamy lost it, tried to fight for control of the Red, hurt Clarke, or run away?  
  
Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore and she secured the horses before charging into the trees, keeping her footsteps light, holding her stick close to her side in case she might need it.  
  
It didn’t take long to find them. She heard them before she saw them, heard the sound of crying and recognised Clarke’s voice. Her heart leapt in her throat and she started running towards them, not even caring about being quiet anymore as she burst out of the brush.  
  
The first person she saw was Lia, standing near where Clarke was kneeling in the dirt. Clarke’s eyes were red and she was swallowing her tears, obviously trying to calm down. She was cradling her left wrist in her other hand, gently opening and closing the fingers.  
  
Octavia saw her brother across the small clearing, slumped against a tree, totally unconscious, a blue tuft in the hollow of his neck. She hurried over to him, but Lia was next to her instantly, her little hand clasped around Octavia’s arm. “Do not revive him,” she warned.  
  
“What happened?” Octavia demanded, jerking her arm away and looking at Clarke. She knelt next to Bellamy and laid her hand against his cheek, relaxing a little as she felt the warmth of his skin, the soft breath against her palm. She glanced back at Clarke. “Did he break your wrist?”  
  
“I don’t think so,” she answered. Dejectedly she added, “He took the whole dose.”  
  
Octavia sucked in a breath and shook her head. “Here, let me,” she said. She stood and went to Clarke, dropping to her knees in front of her. She cradled Clarke’s wrist in her hand and watched her face carefully as she very gingerly manipulated her wrist front and back, then side to side. Clarke cringed a little, but she didn’t seem to be in immense pain, despite the bruising and redness that wringed her wrist. “Probably just twisted it badly,” Octavia said gently.  
  
“He didn’t mean to,” Clarke said, holding her arm against her chest.  
  
“I know,” Octavia said gently, squeezing her shoulder. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back to normal before we know it.”  
  
“We should move,” Lia spoke up. “If you still wish to get to your camp by sunset, we must keep moving.”  
  
Octavia left Clarke’s side and returned to her brother, crouching next to him and watching his face. To a casual observer he might have looked serene, but she could see that he was tormented, maybe having nightmares- unconscious but not sleeping peacefully. “What about him?” she asked Lia.  
  
“I will bring his horse and we will lift him up,” she said. “We should keep him sedated until he is safely inside your camp.”  
  
“No way,” Octavia said firmly. “We’re not walking him through the gates like this.”  
  
She felt Clarke’s hand on her and she expected her to protest, but Clarke just said, “We’ll make sure we wake him up before we get to the gates.”  
  
“Thanks,” Octavia said genuinely, smiling at her. Together they waited with Bellamy, each of them kneeling on opposite sides of him. It seemed like Clarke wanted to say something, but she was hesitant. “What is it?” Octavia asked after a short silence. “A warrior speaks her mind, if her mind is true.”  
  
Clarke let out a long breath and said, “I’m just worried.”  
  
“About going home?”  
  
Again, Clarke sighed. “About everything… about going home, about Bellamy. What if I can’t pull it off? What if-” She broke off, falling silent.  
  
Octavia was looking at her brother’s face as softly she finished for Clarke, “What if he dies?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Clarke said, equally soft. “I shouldn’t have said that.”  
  
“Yes you should,” Octavia said firmly. Their eyes met and she said, “We’ve both been thinking it. Even _he’s_ been thinking it.”  
  
“I’ll get it done,” Clarke said. “I promise.”  
  
Octavia smiled at her and then on impulse she reached out, pulling Clarke into her arms as she said, “I know you will.”  
  
For a moment Clarke did nothing, but then Octavia felt her arms slip around her back and hold her tight. “I’m sorry for everything,” Clarke whispered.  
  
Octavia was surprised at just how much those simple words meant to her. She let out a long breath and then she pulled back, looking into Clarke’s eyes and nodding her head. They both smiled at each other, and Octavia found that despite her anger at Clarke, there could still be room in her heart for forgiveness.  
  
It wasn’t much longer before Lia returned with Bellamy’s horse, and together the three of them struggled to lift him up onto the animal’s back and then bind him to it. Octavia watched him for a moment, making sure he wouldn’t fall, and then the rest of them mounted their own horses.  
  
“Will it wear off by the time we get to camp?” Octavia asked apprehensively.  
  
“I don’t know,” Clarke answered. “I hope so.”  
  
After that sobering exchange, they rode in silence for the next few hours. Octavia noticed that around about the time the land started to incline, the trees began to look more and more familiar.  
  
“This is the hill that overlooks camp,” Clarke spoke up, and she seemed nervous.  
  
“We need to wake him up now,” Octavia said immediately, sliding off her horse before anyone could protest. She grabbed the ropes and started untying them. Clarke appeared at her side, and together they slipped off his bindings and eased him down to the ground.  
  
Lia appeared next to them, frowning. “We do not know what state he will be in,” she warned.  
  
“We’re _not_ going back with him like this,” Octavia snapped.  
  
“Would you rather bring a _Reaper_ to your camp?” Lia retorted.  
  
“Let’s just keep his hands and feet tied, just in case,” Clarke said, clearly trying to compromise. Octavia grudgingly nodded her head in agreement, and even Lia seemed to reluctantly accept that plan. Once they had let the girl secure Bellamy tightly, Octavia pulled the dart from his neck. Both she and Clarke stayed close.  
  
A few tense moments passed, and then his eyes sprung open as he gasped for air, staring up through the trees at the darkening sky. When he turned his head toward them, Octavia smiled at him and said, “Hey Bell… are you okay?”  
  
He nodded, still breathing hard, his eyes a bit cloudy with grogginess, but otherwise he seemed lucid. He struggled to sit up and it was all she could do not to untie him, but she wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be a threat first, that he wouldn’t give Lia any other reason to subdue him.  
  
“What happened?” he asked, his eyes darting between her and Clarke. Octavia remembered how the darts could steal memories from directly before they were placed, and she wondered if maybe that wouldn’t actually be a blessing. If he knew he’d hurt Clarke, he’d feel terrible, and in her opinion he’d spent enough time feeling terrible.  
  
Lia spoke up and said, “I darted you.”  
  
Immediately the colour drained from Bellamy’s face and his eyes were back on Octavia and Clarke, looking them over carefully. “What did I do?”  
  
“Don’t worry about that,” Octavia told him gently, smoothing her hand over his curls, trying to soothe him.  
  
“O, what did I do? Did I hurt you?” he asked urgently. When she shook her head his eyes slid to Clarke and he said, “I hurt _you.”_ He sounded so devastated.  
  
Clarke answered gently, “I’m fine,” but Octavia knew that was as bad as saying yes.  
  
“We’re home,” she told her brother, drawing his attention back. “Camp Jaha’s just past these trees. I’m going to untie you, okay?”  
  
He seemed to hesitate, closing his eyes for a moment, but then he nodded. “Okay, yeah… I feel okay.” With confusion he asked Clarke, “Did you give me Red before? I feel like you did… but I feel a bit different.”  
  
Octavia met Clarke’s eyes and willed her to tell a white lie to spare his feelings- he had enough reasons to be guilty. Clarke gave her a brief smile and then turned her eyes to meet Bellamy’s. She nodded her head. “I gave you your last dose a few hours ago.”  
  
He seemed doubtful, not saying anything for a long moment, but then finally he nodded. “Okay then… let’s get me untied so we can all go home.”  
  
Octavia started working on the ropes, and she was surprised to intercept a grateful look from her brother to Lia, though she couldn’t imagine why. She filed that information away for later, knowing it wasn’t important right now.  
  
Clarke seemed nervous as they got Bellamy to his feet and started through the forest, leading their horses by the reins now, as they got closer. Octavia watched as Bellamy put his hand in the small of Clarke’s back and inched her a step closer to him, saying softly to her, “We’re all going in together.” Those words seemed to soothe her, as the tightness of her shoulders evaporated.  
  
Finally they could see more and more light filtering through the trees ahead, and Octavia felt her anxiety growing with each step she took. Without even realising she was doing it, she started to hang back from the group, holding tighter and tighter to her horse’s reins.  
  
“Hey, O,” Bellamy said, suddenly beside her. “You okay?”  
  
She shook her head. “There’s nothing in there for me, Bell,” she whispered, surprised to find tears filling her eyes.  
  
“Yes there is,” he said gently, pulling her close. “You’ve got me. You’ve always got me.” She exhaled against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him and feeling him doing the same.  
  
She clung to him, trying to get strength from him, trying to be brave, but it all seemed so hopeless. “Will you come with me?” she asked softly. “Will you come with me to our tent? Before detox?”  
  
His hand threaded through her hair and she felt him let out a long, sympathetic breath. Gently he said, “Of course I will. We’ll do it together.”  
  
She nodded, and she felt tears rolling down her cheeks. “Why did he have to _die,_ Bell?” she choked out, the grief suddenly hitting her full-force.  
  
He held her tightly and just let her cry for a long time. Clarke and Lia seemed to have vanished, and she knew they must have been waiting up ahead.  
  
Finally she calmed down enough to pull back, looking into his eyes. She could see how much he felt for her, how badly he wished he could fix it. “It’s okay, big brother,” she said softly. “I’ll get through this.”  
  
“You shouldn’t _have_ to,” he protested.  
  
Gently she said, “But I do. And I will.”  
  
They lost eye contact and he swallowed a little, seeming to hesitate. Finally looking back at her he said, “O… if anything happens… if the detox doesn’t work and I don’t make it-”  
  
“Don’t _say_ that,” she said, squeezing her eyes closed.  
  
“If anything happens,” he said, ignoring her protest. “I just want you to know that I’m proud of you. That Mom would be proud of you too. Okay?”  
  
“You’re not going to die,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, glaring at him. She knew she was being stubborn- obstinate, as her mother used to say- but she didn’t care. She _hated_ when he talked like that.  
  
“Well, even if I don’t… I still want you to know.” He held her shoulders, looked into her eyes. “I’m really proud of you, O.”  
  
Finally she relented, looked at him, feeling herself soften a little. She thought of how much their lives had changed since landing on the dropship, how much they _both_ had grown. “I’m proud of you too, Bell.”  
  
“Was that so hard?” he teased gently, squeezing her shoulder. “Come on… let’s go home.”  
  
She nodded, and together they rejoined Clarke and Lia, neither of who remarked on their absence or her reddened eyes.  
  
They didn’t go much further before the ground started leveling out as they left the mountain behind. They walked in silence through the trees toward Camp Jaha, and as soon as they broke through the treeline, Octavia saw its familiar shape right away, looming ahead.  
  
The large ring and caterpillar-like segments of Alpha Station lay in a big clearing made by their own landing, the electric fence they’d erected in their first days on Earth forming a perimeter around the whole thing. It was still light, more so now that they were out of the woods, and so there seemed to be no electricity on in the station, no artificial lights shining from the windows.  
  
“It’s too quiet,” Bellamy said suddenly.  
  
He was right. It was way too quiet- the only sound was the stirring of the wind. Instantly, all four of them were on edge.  
  
“This way,” Octavia said, leading them around the back of the structure and towards the place in the fence where the electricity was patchy, the place where she’d often snuck out, not wanting her movements to be noticed or regulated by the guards.  
  
Her secret entrance was, as always, free of electricity, but this time there was no hum at all, even in the surrounding sections, and she realised that the whole fence was dead. “Something’s wrong,” she said.  
  
Clarke was shaking her head, and she looked grim. “It’s _all_ wrong,” she declared.  
  
Octavia watched as Clarke and her brother exchanged the gravest look she had ever seen on their faces. Finally, Bellamy was the one to voice what they were all thinking. “No one’s here,” he said, his jaw tight. “They’re gone.”

 


	65. 65- Clarke

Somber, apprehensive, and uneasy, the four of them slipped through the back of the fence and into Camp Jaha. The silence was eerie, and Clarke stayed close to the Blakes, disturbed by the fact that even Lia seemed on edge, almost nervous.  
  
Their first impression was that everyone had just disappeared. There were no fires burning, and where they stood near the back of the camp, nothing seemed out of place or damaged. But as they crept forward, skirting the buildings, they could see that all was definitely not well.  
  
In the main area of camp, which was really just a big clearing, there were bodies strewn about, silent and still.  
  
Bellamy knelt by the first one, who was wearing a guard uniform, and flipped him over so he was face-up. “Scott,” he said softly, shaking his head a little. He sighed and picked up the man’s rifle, slinging it over his shoulder.  
  
“Bellamy became a guard after you left,” Octavia said softly to Clarke. “Scott was his friend.”  
  
Clarke went over to him and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.  
  
“This happened recently,” Lia volunteered. “The bodies have not yet attracted scavengers. Even insects have not begun to feast.”  
  
“Hey,” Clarke said sharply. “These are people we knew. Our friends are lying dead in this camp.”  
  
Seeming confused, Lia said, “What I have said is still true.”  
  
“Don’t even bother,” Octavia muttered to Clarke.  
  
Pulling Scott’s two handguns, Bellamy handed one to Clarke and said, “It’s fine. Let’s just figure out what’s going on here.” He held out the second handgun to Octavia, who hesitated only a moment before taking it. “Stay close,” he said, holding his rifle at the ready just in case.  
  
But it was so quiet; it was hard to believe that anything might jump out.  
  
They checked the other bodies, acknowledging more lost colleagues- though Clarke was relieved that none of the people she considered to be friends were among the fallen. Most of the dead were soldiers and guards, and each one seemed to weigh heavier and heavier on Bellamy’s shoulders. With each gun he took on or passed to them, it was like another burden he had to carry.  
  
Lia didn’t seem particularly interested in looking at the bodies, but Clarke felt she was being respectful as she sat near the entrance to the station and waited for them to do what needed to be done.  
  
Clarke and the Blakes carried on through all the tents and outlying buildings. Some were devoid of bodies, exactly as they’d been left when last in use, and showed no evidence of attack. The bodies had a mixture of wounds- arrows, knife wounds, and bullet holes- so it was difficult to guess just what had happened here. Clarke did note the absence of darts, though.  
  
Finally they came to the last body that lay outside, and Bellamy seemed more disturbed by that one than all the others. Tentatively Clarke looked down at the man, who had three arrows in his chest, his green eyes open to the sky. “Was he a friend?” she asked gently.  
  
“No,” Bellamy answered, and he sounded perplexed, disturbed even. “I don’t know him at all.”  
  
Clarke looked closely at the face and realised that she, too, had never seen the man before. A quick look at Octavia told her that not one of them had ever seen this person. Immediately Clarke realised what it meant. “They found another station.”  
  
Bellamy released his breath, nodding his head. “Looks that way. Come on, let’s check inside. Fall in, weapons hot.”  
  
Half-crouched, Bellamy led them toward the main hold of Alpha Station. Clarke stayed close to his back, with Octavia bringing up the rear. Lia joined them, trailing behind. Just inside the door there were more bodies- some they knew and some they didn't.  
  
“We’ve been gone for months,” Octavia whispered. “They were looking for the other stations. I guess it makes sense that they found one.”  
  
“There’s no one here,” Clarke whispered back. “Everything’s dead.” It was so quiet inside the station that she couldn’t believe they would find a single survivor. But where were all the bodies? The few they passed plus the ones outside barely made up half the population that had been here when she left, and if they’d found another station then there should have been even more people.  
  
They finished their sweep and Clarke led the others to the council chamber, sitting down at the table with them. Despite the dire situation, Bellamy and Octavia exchanged wry grins, obviously amused by the fact that _they_ of all people were seated in council chairs.  
  
“By my count there are a hundred and six bodies inside Camp Jaha, including the station,” Bellamy said.  
  
Octavia folded her arms on the table and dropped her chin onto her forearms. “It wasn’t _Trikru._ Some of them were shot.”  
  
“Could they have started using guns?” Clarke suggested. “Mount Weather was the only reason they didn’t, right?”  
  
Octavia seemed to debate that for a minute, and then she allowed, “Maybe… but I doubt it.”  
  
Bellamy tapped his finger on the table as he said, “The point is, we’re looking at a hundred bodies. When O and I left, the population of Camp Jaha was close to three hundred. If they found another station, then that number will have risen- maybe by fifty, maybe by two hundred, we don’t know. But either way, there’s a decent chunk of people who aren’t here, including most of our friends.”  
  
“But where would they _go?”_ Octavia asked, frowning up at them from her arms.  
  
Clarke exchanged a grim glance with Bellamy and she could see that he knew what she was thinking, but neither one of them wanted to say it out loud, as if that would make it real.  
  
“What?” Octavia asked, lifting her head up and looking between the two of them. She had a frown, almost a scowl on her face, as she complained, “Bell, _what?_ I can’t read your little looks.”  
  
Clarke gritted her teeth and said, “Mount Weather. That’s the only place that makes sense. It’s the only place they could get to quickly if they were attacked… it’s the only place the survivors would be safe from all of _this.”_  
  
“Maybe the _Trikru_ took them in,” Bellamy suggested.  
  
“Doubtful,” Lia said. “Clarke killed their leader. Even now that they have chosen a new Commander, that does not mean they will be quick to help the Sky People.”  
  
Letting out a long breath, Clarke tried to banish the memories of Mount Weather from her mind. She knew the bodies would be gone, because she knew they would have gutted the mountain of useful supplies, particularly weapons and medicines… but the ghosts would be there. The reminders of what she and Bellamy had done, everywhere. She didn’t want to face that. She couldn’t… not now, and maybe not ever.  
  
Sitting up straight in her chair, Clarke shook her head to dispel her dark imaginings. “It doesn't matter,” she said firmly. “We’re not going to Mount Weather. If the _Trikru_ have them, then they’re probably watching the camp, and they probably already know that we’re here. And if they’re inside Mount Weather, then they’re safe for now.”  
  
“That is a bold statement to make,” Lia spoke up. “They may be in danger inside the mountain. Whoever attacked them here may have followed them.”  
  
Clarke imagined her mother inside Mount Weather, trapped and afraid. She imagined the others too- Jasper and Monty especially, who also had terrible memories from inside that place. But she had to shake that all away as she said, “We have to focus on detoxing Bellamy before we think about anything else.”  
  
“But it’s not safe,” Octavia protested. “What if the people who _did_ this are watching the camp?”  
  
“Then we would already be dead,” Lia spoke up.  
  
“But it’s loud,” Octavia protested further, looking at Clarke. “Remember how loud Lincoln was?”  
  
“We’ll be doing it in medical,” she answered. “We’ll seal the doors and make sure it’s safe.” Sliding her eyes to Bellamy, she could see a deep frown on his face, see his eyes fixed on the table and not on any of them. She wasn’t even sure if he was listening to what they were saying. Reaching out to him, Clarke laid her palm over the back of his hand and gave it a squeeze. “You know we have to.”  
  
Letting out a heavy breath, he nodded his head. “Yeah,” he said, turning his hand over and squeezing hers. “I know.” They shared a smile, and then he looked at his sister and said, “But first I promised I’d go check your tent with you.” Octavia’s expression had been dark, but now it brightened significantly, as though she’d thought he might have forgotten about her. It made Clarke wonder if she had any idea at all just how central she was to Bellamy’s world. Clarke had worried about it more than once in the last couple of weeks, every time she let herself imagine a future with Bellamy. But there was no use dwelling on it; she’d never met siblings before them, but anyone could see that their bond was deep and unbreakable. She would just have to fit in around it.  
  
“Okay,” Clarke said, drawing their attention back to her. “I have to get the supplies I need anyway… so why don’t you two go do that, and Lia can help me prepare medical? And _then,_ once this is over, we’ll figure out where the others are.”  
  
“If they’re in trouble,” Bellamy said carefully. “And we delay going after them because of me…” Clarke wasn’t sure if he was saying that because he was apprehensive about detox or if he was legitimately concerned about their people.  
  
“No, Bell, we have to help you,” Octavia said gently. “This needs to happen now. You can’t stay on that drug another minute.”  
  
“She’s right,” Clarke agreed gently, nodding her head and looking at Bellamy. Again she said, “You know we have to.”  
  
Heavily he said, “Yeah… fine. Let’s just get it over with.” He stood up from the table and nodded to Octavia. “O, come on.” Without another word, he stood up and left the council chamber.  
  
Octavia rose to her feet, but before she followed him she gave Clarke a reassuring smile and said, “Don’t worry. He’s just scared.”  
  
Returning the smile, Clarke nodded her head. “This is the best possible place to do this… it’ll be fine.” She did wish her mother was there to help, but otherwise what she’d said was true.  
  
“I know,” Octavia answered. “I trust you.” Clarke knew that statement was a miracle, but she only nodded her head, and she was left alone with Lia in the council chamber.


	66. 66- Octavia

Despite passing all the dead bodies that were strewn around the camp, some of which were people she’d once known, approaching her tent was the most horrible thing about returning to Camp Jaha. The closer she got, the more her vision tunneled and the more apprehensive she felt. Finally, only a few metres from the structure, she stopped short, finding that her legs wouldn’t carry her any further.  
  
It took about two steps for Bellamy to realise that she was no longer beside him, and he quickly hurried back to her side, pulling her to his chest. She clung to him, a few silent tears escaping down her cheeks, and whispered, “I can’t do it.”  
  
“Hey,” he answered her, his hand coming up to gently stroke the back of her head. “Yes you can, and I’m going to be right there with you.”  
  
“Bell? When Mom died, did you go? Did you watch her get floated?” She had never asked him that question, but suddenly it seemed so urgent.  
  
He let out a long breath and said, “O... let's not talk about that, okay? It's horrible.”  
  
“I hate them,” she said savagely. “I hate them so much.”  
  
“Some of the people you hate lived with us at Camp Jaha for months,” he said gently. “Things change, O. Things get easier.”  
  
She remembered Lia’s words, _You have survived Lincoln’s death for this long, and you will continue to survive it. One day, the hurt will be smaller._  
  
Shaking her head, she pulled away from Bellamy and looked into his eyes. He looked back at her, his gaze steady, and she knew he was trying to give her strength. “You know,” he said gently. “When Echo was alive, she told me that her mother used to say there was no use adding more bitterness to a drink that you’re already dreading. You don’t have to think about Mom now, O. Lincoln’s bad enough.”  
  
“I can’t help it,” she said, shaking her head a little. “I can’t stop thinking about everyone I care about… everyone who’s dead… Mom, some of the friends I made in the Sky Box, Atom, Lincoln… they’re all gone, Bell. Just gone.”  
  
“But we’re not,” he said, taking her hand and squeezing it tight. “We’re still here, O. I’m not going to leave you.”  
  
The fear rose up in her throat and she heard her voice breaking as she said, the words tumbling from her lips, “I know Clarke is going to do her best, but what if it doesn’t work? Detox wasn’t exactly easy on Lincoln, and you’ve taken way more of that stuff than he ever did. What if you _die,_ Bell?”  
  
“Hey, hey, that’s _not_ going to happen,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and forcing her to look him in the eyes. “I’m _not_ leaving you.”  
  
“But before-”  
  
“Before, I was being an idiot,” he interrupted her protest, knowing what she was going to say before the words left her lips. “I was just scared. I’m sorry I made you scared too, O. I’m not going to die.”  
  
She drew in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. “Good,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “Because if you do, you’ll be leaving me with _Clarke_ and _Lia_. Which would be totally awful.”  
  
“Come on,” he teased gently. “I thought you and Clarke were friends now that you’re getting to boss her around.”  
  
Octavia rolled her eyes. “I’m not bossing her around, I’m teaching her to fight. And yeah, it’s fun. She’s actually getting better every day. Once we can finally sit still, I’ll make a warrior out of her- no problem.”  
  
“Good,” he said with a nod. “The stronger you two are, the happier I’ll be.” He shared a smile with her, and then tipped his head toward the tent. “Ready?”  
  
“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “But let’s do it anyway.” She welcomed his arm around her as together they walked to the tent.  
  
Inside, it was exactly as they’d left it in their hurry to leave Camp Jaha, after Lexa came with the news that Clarke had been taken. It seemed like so long ago, another time, and as she looked around at the evidence of her and Lincoln’s life together, it felt as though she’d been another person, living here.  
  
Walking to the bed, she reached down and touched the guard’s uniform that he’d removed in a hurry once he found out they were leaving. “I hated this thing,” she said softly. “I hated him in it- and you.” But she stroked the shoulder paid gently in her fingers, suddenly feeling as though it was a precious thing.  
  
“Yeah, well, something tells me my guard days are over,” Bellamy said gently.  
  
“I’ve heard that before,” she reminded him wryly, making him laugh a little and shake his head. Octavia picked up Lincoln’s pillow and held it to her face, inhaling deeply through her nose. The familiar scent of his skin overwhelmed her and for a second she found herself choking on sobs. Bellamy stayed close, but he didn’t touch her, didn’t try to interrupt her moment. She put the pillow back and smoothed it gently.  
  
Aware that they wouldn’t be staying long and that the camp might not be here when she got back, she grabbed a leather satchel and handed it to Bellamy. “Hold this open,” she said to him, starting to gather together the few possessions worth saving. Into the satchel went a bracelet that Lincoln had made for her, all his sketchbooks, his favourite shirt, and the foghorn that had saved so many _Skaikru_ lives in the weeks following their arrival on Earth. She tied the laces of the satchel carefully, sealing it up. “Do you want anything from your tent?” she asked her brother.  
  
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You and Clarke are all I need.”  
  
She eyed him for a moment and then she asked, “Do you love her?”  
  
Gently he said, “I could. If things keep going like this, I will.”  
  
“I loved Lincoln almost right away,” she said thoughtfully. “I just didn’t realise it until later.”  
  
Bellamy shrugged a little and held out the bag. Octavia took it from him and slung it over her shoulder. “Did Mom ever love anyone?” she asked.  
  
“You’re talking about being _in_ love with someone,” he told her. “You were _in_ love with Lincoln, and you’re asking me if I’m _in_ love with Clarke. Right?”  
  
Octavia frowned. “I’m not sure. What’s the difference?”  
  
He smiled a little. “You know… you can love someone and not be _in_ love with them. Like how I _love_ you, and I _loved_ Mom, and yeah, I _love_ Clarke.”  
  
“Okay fine, so have you ever been _in_ love?” she clarified.  
  
He shook his head. “No, never.” She saw his cheeks redden just a little. “I’ve never even really had a girlfriend.”  
  
Octavia made a face. “But all those girls you were with when we first landed…” She trailed off, and then she was blushing too. “Oh.”  
  
“Let’s talk about something else,” he said, clearing his throat. “Anything but this.”  
  
“Wait, you didn’t answer my question- was Mom ever _in_ love?”  
  
He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, and his eyes looked suddenly far away, somewhere she had never been. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I think so… I think she was in love with my dad.”  
  
Octavia held her breath. She knew Bellamy had never talked about her father because she’d never asked, but he had never, _never_ mentioned his own father, not once in her entire life. ‘Father’ and ‘dad’ had been foreign words in their quarters. She didn’t dare speak in case she scared away the moment.  
  
He seemed to be hesitating, unsure of how to explain. Finally he said softly, “Mom was hurt a lot, O… by men- before you came, and after. Once my dad was floated, I don't think she let herself fall in love with _anyone.”_  
  
“What about _my_ father?” she couldn’t help but ask.  
  
Again, he hesitated, letting out a heavy breath. “Look, I know I said we could talk about this, and we will, I promise… but can it wait? It’s just too much right now.”  
  
Octavia hid her disappointment for his sake and said, “Okay. After.”  
  
Bellamy seemed relieved, nodding his head. “Are you ready?”  
  
Briefly, she reached up to the leather cord around her neck and followed it down to the pouch of ashes- that small part of Lincoln she still carried- and she just stroked the suede for a moment, thinking of him.  
  
“Yeah,” she said finally, drawing in a deep breath and letting it go. “I’m ready.”


	67. 67- Clarke

She was relieved when Lia let her direct her in setting up and gathering supplies, since her wrist was still tender. She and Lia worked together mostly in silence, which allowed Clarke to ponder everything that had happened, as well as all that was still coming.  
  
A big weight would be lifted once Bellamy was fully off the drug, but Clarke was still worried about what they would have to do once that was finished. To go back to Mount Weather… to face that place again… the idea filled her with such dread that she could hardly stand it.  
  
Silently she reminded herself, _One thing at a time._ That was the only way she could keep moving, keep getting things done.  
  
“This is the last of it,” Lia said, setting down another bag of fluid replacement on the trolley Clarke had set up.  
  
It was a welcome distraction. “Okay,” Clarke said, surveying the room they had prepared. It was the same little area where Lincoln had spent his days following his own detox from the Red, which seemed fitting, but she had chosen it not out of poetry but necessity.  
  
“Are you ready?” Lia asked. She seemed curious about this whole process, as if not quite believing it would really work.  
  
“We have the bed, restraints for his hands and feet, IV equipment, fluids, a defibrillator, a heart monitor, and epinephrine.” She nodded. “Yeah… that should be it.” She wracked her brain, trying to think of whether she’d missed anything, but she knew she was just being paranoid. After all, they’d detoxed Lincoln with nothing more than makeshift restraints from the dropship and a shock baton.  
  
It wasn’t long before Bellamy and Octavia returned to the medical bay together. Clarke noticed, but did not comment on, the redness around Octavia’s eyes.  
  
She could see the apprehension all over Bellamy’s face as he looked over the supplies she’d gathered, but when she met his eyes he just gave her a small smile and said, “Let’s do this.”  
  
Clarke nodded. Somewhat apologetically she said, “I’ll have to restrain you.”  
  
“That’s fine,” he answered right away. But still, he hesitated, not moving toward the bed yet. He turned to his sister and said gently, “Hey… can you clear out for a minute? Come back in a little while?”  
  
“Come _on,”_ she protested immediately. “You don’t have to protect me from this. I know what’s going to happen and I _want_ to be here. I told you I’d be there to help you through this and I meant it.”  
  
“O-” Bellamy had a little smile on his face.  
  
“No way,” she interrupted him. “I held it together just fine with Lincoln.” Looking to Clarke for support she said, “Right?” Clarke nodded, but before she could even respond, Octavia turned her attention back to her brother and said, “See?”  
  
“Are you done?” he asked, his smile only wider now.  
  
Octavia seemed to consider the question for a moment, and then she nodded. “Yeah.”  
  
“I’d like some time alone with Clarke if that’s okay,” he explained, still looking amused.  
  
Octavia didn’t blush, but she looked about ready to. “Oh,” she said, glancing toward Clarke, who couldn’t help an amused smile of her own. Octavia added, “Okay then… I’ll be back in a little while.” Tossing a wry smile in her brother’s direction, she left the medical bay.  
  
“You too,” Bellamy said to Lia. “But give her some space.” Lia said nothing, she just left, and Bellamy shook his head as he watched her go.  
  
Clarke swallowed nervously and went to the trolley, again going through the inventory of supplies. With forced cheeriness she said, “So I’ve got everything I need… I think. We should be okay as long as we take things slow, help your body through the process gradually. Who knows, maybe you won’t even-”  
  
“Come here,” Bellamy said, his voice soft as he suddenly appeared behind her, his chest pressing into her back. He wrapped his arms around her, one covering her upper chest, his hand squeezing gently just below her shoulder, the other sliding across her stomach and finding one of her hands. She laced her fingers through his as his chin curled over her shoulder. Clarke closed her eyes, relaxing just a little bit into his embrace.  
  
For a long moment he just held her and they said nothing. She could feel his breath on her cheek, feel the heat of his body spreading outward through her own. Finally, gently, he pulled her away from the trolley and turned her around to face him. He wrapped her up in his arms and tucked her head under his chin, and she held onto his back, trying not to be scared.  
  
Softly he said, “Hey.”  
  
Clarke couldn’t help a smile as she replied, “Hey.”  
  
“Whatever happens,” he said next, his voice rumbling in her ear. “I wanted to say thanks. For getting me this far… getting me through this. It can’t have been easy.”  
  
She let out a long breath and forced herself to sound upbeat as she said, “It was nothing.”  
  
“You know you don’t have to do that with me, right?” he asked gently. “I can read you like a book, Clarke.” He let go of her and stepped back enough that he could take hold of her arm gently. He slid the sleeve up a little, revealing her injured wrist, then higher to show the still-healing bite marks he’d put there when he’d first been turned into a Reaper. It seemed so long ago now.  
  
She covered his hand with hers and said, “That wasn’t you.” Suddenly she remembered what Lincoln had told her, all those months ago when he’d been the one in this room, _We’ve all got a monster inside of us, Clarke. And we’re all responsible for what it does when we let it out._  
  
Squeezing her eyes shut, she shook her head and said again, “That wasn’t _you.”_  
  
When she looked at Bellamy again, he was gazing at her with such gentleness, such compassion. He nodded his head, and then raised a hand to trace the curve of her jaw with his fingertips. The tenderness of that action coupled with the knowledge that he would soon be a rabid, snarling beast, was too much for her. She reached up and slid her fingers through his curls, pulling his face down to meet hers and burying her grief in his lips.  
  
Bellamy seemed relieved, almost, by the kiss, and he deepened it right away, opening his lips to her, finding her tongue with his. He backed her up against the bed so there would be some kind of resistance behind her as he leaned against her, pressing his body into hers, flooding her with his warmth. One of his hands gripped her hip while the other slipped under the hem of her shirt and anchored in the small of her back.  
  
Clarke was so scared- scared to hurt him, scared to be hurt _by_ him, scared to lose him- and she needed to be as close as she could be to him, needed to drive those fears away with the reassuring pressure of his body pushed against hers. Suddenly irritated by the fabric between them, she seized the hem of his shirt and tugged.  
  
Bellamy chuckled softly into her lips and pulled back from the kiss long enough to yank the shirt off and toss it aside, pushing her jacket back off her shoulders and doing the same. Clarke grabbed her own shirt and pulled it over her head, adding it to the pile. She was prepared to stop Bellamy from going further, but he made no move to reach for her bra, he just slid his arms around her back and held her as close as he could, kissing her again.  
  
The strength and warmth of his body, the reassuring and familiar smell of his skin, the taste of him, the silkiness of his hair under her fingers, and his lips- somehow soft and firm at the same time- provided her with a sensory overload that drowned out all thought. It was a welcome reprieve, for both of them, from what was to come.  
  
Finally they stopped kissing, but neither of them were in any hurry to pull away, and they kept their arms around one another. Clarke laid her cheek against Bellamy’s chest and enjoyed the feeling of his skin against hers, trying to ignore the strange pounding, then murmuring, of his heart. Bellamy’s hands stroked her back, up and down and side-to-side, drawing lazy circles over her skin that made her shiver. She turned to look up at him and he brought his hands up, using his thumbs to stroke the hair back from her face, smiling down at her.  
  
“I’m scared,” she whispered, holding his eyes with her own.  
  
“So am I,” he answered, his voice barely more than breath. “But this-” He stroked his hands across her cheeks, her neck, over her shoulders, down her arms, and then took her hands in his, squeezing them. _“- this_ is worth sticking around for.”  
  
Bellamy could be many things, but romantic wasn’t really something she would have ever expected, before all this. Every time that part of him showed, her heart couldn’t help but quicken, and her lips couldn’t help but curl up into a smile. She kissed him again, soft and tender, and then- reluctantly- she stepped backward out of his embrace. She picked up her shirt and put it on again, sighing as she did.  
  
“Now that’s not fair,” he teased her gently, with that wry smile she knew so well. “Why do I have to keep mine off and you don’t?”  
  
“Because _I’m_ not the one who has a heart problem,” she answered, rolling her eyes- but she was still smiling.  
  
Bellamy sat down on the bed, leaning into the pillow and letting her fasten the restraints around his wrists and ankles. Quickly after that, the mood became somber as she worked. Carefully she put in an IV line, apologising for the prick of the needle, and then she started running fluids into it as she attached the leads from the heart monitor to him, placing several sticky pads on his chest.  
  
“Shit,” he said as he looked at the monitor, seeing the erratic rhythm of his heart rate displayed on the screen. The beeping that accompanied each beat of his heart seemed random and haphazard. Quickly Clarke turned the volume down, silencing the machine that she knew would only stress everyone out- including herself. Once that was done, he shot her a grateful look.  
  
When everything was prepped, Clarke sat down next to him and gave him a tight smile. Bellamy looked at the monitor, then down at his restraints, then back at her, and that wry smile slowly slid back onto his face as he said, “Now what?”  
  
She laughed softly. “Now we wait.”  
  
“For me to go crazy?” he clarified, sounding apprehensive.  
  
“For you to get through this,” she answered firmly, though he was mostly right- he would become unpredictable, aggressive, and dangerous before she could declare him stable.  
  
He leaned his head back into the pillow, swallowing a little as he looked up at the ceiling. “Maybe I should get some rest.”  
  
“That’s a good idea,” she said, pulling a chair to the side of the bed so she could sit down next to him.  
  
Despite the logic of that plan, Clarke laid her hand over Bellamy’s and the two of them just looked at each other. She knew without a shadow of a doubt: neither one of them were going to be able to sleep.


	68. 68- Bellamy

For a long time he watched the IV line, the little chamber filled with clear fluid, the drip, drip, drip from the tubing, the slightly strange feeling of the cannula in his hand, keeping his vein open. His mouth was dry but he wasn’t thirsty.  
  
Next he pulled at his restraints, testing them, trying to break them, but the leather seemed to hold despite his best efforts. He hoped that once he was a Reaper again, that added strength wouldn’t break these bonds.  
  
“Hey,” he said to Clarke.  
  
She was nearby, writing notes on a clipboard after deciding to keep a record of this like a real medical procedure. Her pencil paused on the paper and she looked at him. “What is it?” She frowned in concern as she approached him. “Do you feel okay?”  
  
“Yeah, I feel fine,” he assured her. “I was just thinking, when this all starts, what if the restraints don’t hold? Is there a backup?”  
  
Clarke nodded. “Lia,” she said. “If it comes to it, she’ll dart you. I’d rather not do that, because I don’t want to add anything to your body when it’ll already be so unstable, chemically. But it’s there just in case.”  
  
“She told me sometimes they don’t work so fast,” he said, clenching his jaw a little. “What about the doors? Can they be locked from the outside?”  
  
“It’s not going to come to that,” she assured him.  
  
“But if it does- can they be locked from outside this room?”  
  
Clarke glanced towards the doors, and then she nodded. “Yes. If we have to.”  
  
“Good. So if I break the restraints on my wrists, I’m going to go for the ones on my ankles right away- just like Lincoln did in the drop ship. If that happens, you and O need to get outside the doors right away and close them. Lia can do her thing, and then you can both come back in and keep an eye on me. Agreed?”  
  
“Agreed,” Clarke said gently. She looked scared, and he wanted to take her hand, but he couldn’t. The restraints had felt more and more confining, irritating, as the day had gone on. Now, Clarke seemed to sense his frustration and she laid a hand against his cheek. For a moment her skin felt wonderful, cool and soothing, but then he felt a strange prickling in his cheek and he had to pull his face away.  
  
“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head a little.  
  
“Hypersensitivity to touch,” Clarke told him. “It’s normal.” She went to the light switches and turned all but one of them off, making the room dark for him, preparing for when his eyes would become light sensitive. He nodded his head, drawing in deep breaths, trying not to show how terrified he was.  
  
“Clarke,” he said to her, drawing back her eyes. “Thanks for this.”  
  
“Stop saying that,” she said tenderly. “I’m doing this for myself as much as you. And for Octavia.”  
  
Bellamy nodded. “Yeah, I know.” He let out a long breath and added, “God, I can’t wait for this to be over.”  
  
“This is the worst part,” she told him. “Anticipation.”  
  
He didn’t think that was quite true- yes, it was terrible to be waiting, but the feeling of actually craving the drug, the horrifically wild and frenzied skipping of his thoughts, his single-mindedness, his violence, his lack of caring for those he would normally love… _that_ was the worst part.  
  
As the day dragged on, Octavia and Lia came back and Clarke explained the plan to them. Bellamy could only relax once everyone agreed to his terms. As long as Octavia and Clarke stayed safe, he could focus on what he needed to do. He knew this was unpredictable, but the more he could ensure their protection, the better.  
  
Gradually, over time, his craving for the drug became stronger and stronger, and he felt more and more out of touch with reality. His heart was pounding, his breath coming quickly, beads of sweat on his brow and chest. Clarke brought over a bowl of cool water and dipped a cloth in it, wiping it down over his skin.  
  
Octavia was sitting nearby in a chair, and she leaned forward as Clarke tended to him. “Are you okay, Bell?”  
  
He nodded. “For now. Are you sure you want to be here?”  
  
She sat back in the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Till the end.”  
  
With a soft smile, he said, “Okay then.”  
  
“Look at me for a second,” Clarke said, and he did, turning his eyes toward hers. She pulled out a small flashlight and shined it across his gaze, which made him cringe, like he was looking directly into the sun, though the beam of the flashlight was quite mild- weak, even. Clarke just nodded and jotted down some notes.  
  
“Do you have to _do_ that?” Octavia asked, an edge to her voice. “Write everything down?”  
  
“I’m just making a record of this,” she answered, sounding surprised. “It might be helpful later.”  
  
Octavia glowered, crossing her arms over her chest, her jaw tight.  
  
Without thinking, Bellamy tried to reach out to her, but them he remembered he couldn’t. “O,” he said, drawing her attention. “It’s okay.” He knew what she was thinking about- Santos, the psychiatrist in the Sky Box. She would have written down every word Octavia said.  
  
Letting out her breath, she nodded. She eyed Clarke for a moment and said, “I’m going to read that, just so you know.”  
  
Clarke laughed softly and handed over the clipboard. “Go ahead- it's boring.” Directing her attention back to Bellamy, she stroked his hair for a moment and asked, “How do you feel?”  
  
“Like crap,” he answered honestly. “But I know it’s only going to get worse.”  
  
“Pain?” she asked carefully.  
  
He shook his head. “No, no pain. Just… discomfort. I feel like my skin is crawling. And I keep thinking about the Red.” Even as he said it, he was hit with an overwhelming craving that he could barely stand. He pulled in a breath and let it out again, feeling his voice shudder. “I feel like I’m going to die without it.”  
  
“Well, lucky for you, we’re not going to let that happen,” Clarke said gently, but he could see she was worried, and so was Octavia. The only one who seemed totally unconcerned was, of course, Lia, who was sitting in a chair of her own near the door, just watching everything they did with obvious curiosity.  
  
Someone was always with him. Even though they took breaks to eat and sleep, one of the three of them was always by his bedside, waiting with him, monitoring him. It helped not to feel alone, but he was slipping deeper and deeper into a place he didn’t want to go.  
  
Occasionally he slept, fitfully, plagued by nightmares, but he would always wake with a start, disoriented and confused. If Clarke or Octavia happened to be next to him when that happened, he would get a soft hand on his face and a murmur of reassurance. If Lia was the one keeping watch, she would stay where she was and say something robotic, like, “You are still alive.” It usually made him laugh.  
  
Octavia happened to be the one next to him when he woke up and felt that something had changed. She saw his eyes open and stood to approach him, but he held up a hand as best he could and said, “Don’t.”  
  
She stopped, obviously hearing the edge to his voice. “Do you need anything?”  
  
“Can you turn the lights off?” he asked, gritting his teeth.  
  
“They’re off,” she answered gently. “All of them. It’s dark in here, Bell.”  
  
He could see her so clearly that it seemed like there were giant spotlights pointed right at her, but he nodded his head and said, “Good.” He’d thought his cravings were bad before this, but _now_ he felt horrific, like he could barely stand to be in his own skin. He felt his heart pounding, felt his hands trembling, a cold sweat across his skin.  
  
Octavia appeared suddenly beside him with a cool cloth, wiping it over his chest. It felt good and bad at the same time- soothing but irritating, leaving an unpleasant tingling sensation across his skin, almost like pain. He gritted his teeth and said nothing, but Octavia could see his discomfort and she cringed in sympathy. “It’ll be okay,” she said softly, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze.  
  
Before he even realised he was doing it, Bellamy had seized her wrist and then her arm, hauling her close to him. “I can’t do this,” he said urgently.  
  
Octavia frowned. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I can’t do this, O… it’s too awful. I’m going to die. Please… I need it.”  
  
She shook her head. “No you don’t, Bell. I promise you’re not going to die… we’re keeping you safe. Clarke’s taking really good care of you.”  
  
He felt an overwhelming surge of anger rise up in his chest and he was appalled by an intense desire to hurt her- hit her, strangle her, anything- just because she wouldn’t give him what he wanted. He let go of her, giving her a little shove so she staggered out of his reach. “Stay away from me,” he snapped- he’d meant it as a warning, but he’d said it with anger and immediately he saw the hurt flash through her eyes, then watched as she pushed it away.  
  
“You’re going to be okay,” she said firmly. "Just calm down and -"  
  
“Octavia, I _need_ it!” he exploded, yelling at her. “You don’t understand!”  
  
“I know it feels like that, but-”  
  
“Goddammit, no, don’t you _get_ it?! I’m going to _die!_ You’re _killing_ me!” Even as he yelled at her, he felt the panic rising up from his stomach, as though with each word he spoke, the statement became even truer.  
  
He really felt like he was going to die- his body was shaking, his skin clammy with sweat, his heart pounding in his ears, his vision tunneled and darkening. He felt sick, like he was going to vomit, and none of it was in his control. The room was spinning, tumbling around, and the anxiety was overwhelming.  
  
Octavia crept close to him again and he tried to grab her, wanted to hurt her for denying him what he needed. “You’re killing me!” he yelled at her, his anger suddenly ramping up unpredictably. “After everything I’ve done for you… after you ruined _everything!_ After you made me a prisoner in my own life and _killed_ Mom!”  
  
Octavia cringed as though he’d struck her and backed away, crying now, shaking her head.  
  
Clarke rushed in, obviously drawn by his yelling, and she put a hand on Octavia's shoulder and said softly, “It’s okay, he’s not himself, he doesn’t mean that.”  
  
Octavia pulled in a breath and let it out, nodding. “I need some air.” She shrugged out of Clarke's touch and didn’t even look in his direction before she left the room.  
  
“Clarke,” Bellamy said, trying to get a handle on his breathing as he told her, “We were wrong, I’m not going to make it. I need a little Red, okay? Just to help me through this… just until I feel better, or I’m going to die.”  
  
“If I give you more, you’re never going to feel better,” she said calmly, standing well out of his reach. “You know that.”  
  
“No, we were wrong,” he said urgently, pulling at his restraints, wishing he could break them. “Clarke, I _need_ it.”  
  
She said nothing; she just checked his vitals on the monitors, made some notes on her clipboard, and ignored him. It was infuriating. “Are you enjoying this?” he asked savagely.  
  
That got her attention. Her eyes were full of pain as she looked at him and whispered, "Of course not."  
  
“I bet you are,” he growled, no more able to stop himself from hurting her as he'd been able to stop himself from hurting Octavia. “I bet you like this- getting to play doctor. _Experimenting_ on me.”  
  
Clarke shook her head and said, “This isn't you.” He wondered if she was trying to convince him, or herself. “You don’t mean any of that… you’re lashing out because we won’t give you what you want. We just have to get through this, Bellamy, and then you’ll be fine.”  
  
“Dammit, I _can’t!”_ he yelled, and suddenly he was crying. “Clarke, I’m serious… I’m going to die.”  
  
“No you aren’t,” she said gently. “Your vitals-”  
  
“That monitor is _wrong!”_ he insisted. “I can feel what’s happening in my own body, Clarke!”  
  
She crossed her arms over her chest and said, “I can get you anything but that drug. Are you hungry?”  
  
“No,” he snapped. “I don’t need food, I need Red.” He drew in a deep breath and tried to calm down. “Clarke, listen to me,” he said, forcing his tone to be gentle now. “You know I don’t want to take it. You _know_ I don’t want to be on that stuff. So I wouldn’t be saying this unless it was true- I _need_ it. Just a little bit, to take the edge off. Just give me a quarter of a dose." When she shook her head he begged, "An _eighth?"_  
  
Clarke shook her head. “You’re saying that because you’re an addict,” she said tenderly. “But soon you won’t be, and you’ll be glad I didn’t give you any. I know this is hard because you’ve been on it so long, but it’s going to be okay. It just _feels_ awful- but you’re safe, I promise.”  
  
Bellamy felt his body go rigid and he arched his back, hauling his arms and legs against the restraints as hard as he could, over and over, trying to break them. Clarke took a step back, watching him carefully, but the restraints held. Still, he kept trying until he was totally exhausted. The last thing he remembered before he passed out was Clarke watching him closely, her arms crossed over her chest, a deeply disturbed expression on her face. The last thought he had was how much he wanted to kill her.


	69. 69- Octavia

She sat in the dirt just outside Alpha Station, her arms around her knees, pulling in deep breaths, listening to the wind in the trees, focusing on the warmth of the sun. She was trying to banish Bellamy’s words from her mind, but they kept echoing back to her, again and again.  
  
_You’re killing me! After everything I did for you… after you ruined_ everything! _After you made me a prisoner in my own life and_ killed _Mom!_  
  
It reminded her of the fight they’d had when they were still back at the dropship, when he’d told her that his life had ended the day she was born. She’d been so hurt by that too, even though she’d known he didn’t really mean it, but part of her had thought that there was probably some tiny shred of truth to it. She felt the same way now.  
  
Bellamy loved her- she had no doubt of _that-_ but he had spent his formative years taking care of her, always putting himself second, never having a real life, and as much as he loved her she worried that he resented her, too.  
  
With her deep breaths, she managed to push all that aside. She knew that, regardless of anything else, his words were brought on by his addiction, and his desperation. She knew she had to be there for him, and she wanted to be. She just had to be brave.  
  
Drawing in one final breath, she let it out slowly and got to her feet, straightening up and heading back into the station and over to the medical bay. Bellamy looked asleep, and Clarke was standing nearby, watching him carefully. Octavia walked up beside her and asked apprehensively, “How is he?”  
  
“Unconscious, for now,” she answered, her voice stressed. “But he’s irrational.” She reached out and gave Octavia’s arm a gentle squeeze and said, “I heard part of what he said to you before… you know that wasn’t really him, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Octavia said, not taking her eyes off her brother. “I know that.”  
  
“It’ll be worse from here,” Clarke said, gritting her teeth. “We all just have to get through it together.”  
  
“And at some point his heart will stop?” she asked uneasily.  
  
Clarke nodded. “Probably… but we have a real defibrillator, even better than a shock baton, and medicine. We’ll be able to save him.”  
  
Octavia swallowed and said softly, “But that doesn’t really make it any less scary, does it?”  
  
With a nod of agreement, Clarke let out a heavy sigh and promised, “I’ll be back soon.”  
  
After watching Clarke go, Octavia hung back from the bed for a long time, just watching her brother’s face. She wanted to smooth the creases of stress from his forehead, mop his brow, hold his hand, but she was scared of him.  
  
It felt horrible, to be frightened of someone she loved so much, someone who’d raised her, cheered at her first steps, taught her to read, entertained her through hours of boredom and frustration, kept her safe through inspections, nursed her through sickness, held her while she cried, risked everything to show her a moonrise. He was someone who had been willing to kill for her, first on the Ark and then on the ground, and he was someone who had loved her through each moment of her life, good and bad, unconditionally.  
  
Softly she said, “I want to help you.” Bellamy didn’t move. A bit louder, she told him, “I’m scared.” He didn’t stir. Finally she said, “I love you.” Still nothing. She drew in a shaky breath, let it out slowly, and then she nodded her head, freshly determined.  
  
She sat down in the chair by the door and just watched him, attuned to every twitch of his face, every bead of sweat that rolled down his cheek, every clenched muscle of his jaw. She would help him by staying close, by being there for whatever came next.  
  
Hours passed with nothing. Clarke and Lia both drifted back into the room and out again, but Octavia didn’t want to go anywhere. She couldn’t leave him, not now- not when she knew things were going to get so much worse.  
  
Finally he woke, letting out a gasp as he tried to jolt upright, halted only by the restraints on his wrists and ankles. Octavia jumped up from her chair, standing nearby but not going close enough that she would be putting herself at risk. Tentatively she asked, “Bell?”  
  
His head ratcheted towards her and her heart sank as he gnashed his teeth at her, the white around his irises almost blood red, looking for all the world like he had no idea who she was. Despite how upsetting it was to see him like that, there was a bit of relief tied in with her horror- at least this meant he was moving through the process, and that he would eventually be cured.  
  
Bellamy pulled against the restraints, trying so hard to get to her, and the sounds he made were disturbing- a mixture between muttering, sighing, screaming, and groaning.  
  
Suddenly his body went slack and he started trembling, then shaking, his muscles tensing with spasms as he convulsed. She could hear the pain in his voice as he grunted, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and she saw white foam pouring from his lips.  
  
Turning on her heel, she slammed the door open and screamed Clarke’s name before hurrying to his side. “I’m right here, Bell, you’re okay,” she whispered.  
  
Clarke and Lia both hurried in and saw what was happening. Lia hung back, waiting in case she was needed, while Clarke’s eyes immediately went to the monitor to check Bellamy’s heart rate.  
  
“He’s okay,” she assured both of them, standing close to Octavia and watching Bellamy’s face. It felt like forever before he finally stopped shaking, and then his eyes snapped open again as his body stilled. Octavia and Clarke hastily stepped back together, and not a moment too soon. Bellamy lunged at them- at least, as best he could, considering he was restrained- and his teeth snapped closed right where Octavia’s arm had just been.  
  
She exchanged a glance with Clarke and said, trying to lighten the mood, “Okay… so that’s progress, right?”  
  
Clarke laughed softly, shaking her head. “Technically, yes.”  
  
Bellamy kept gnashing his teeth, kept trying to get at them, and together they leaned back against the wall, waiting, watching him.  
  
“Is this what is meant to happen?” Lia asked after a while.  
  
“I’ve only done this once,” Clarke told her. She asked Octavia, “Did my mom help any of the other Reapers, after… everything?”  
  
She nodded. “Yeah, but it’s not like I was part of it, so I don’t know any details.”  
  
Clarke let out a sigh. “This is what I’ve seen before. So far, so good.”  
  
Lia was eyeing Bellamy carefully as he continued to attack them, and after a short time she shook her head, looking at Octavia. “Even your love will not save him now- he is too far gone.”  
  
“We just have to wait until the drug is completely out of his system,” Clarke said. “And make sure that if his heart stops, we can restart it.”  
  
“You can do that?” Lia asked with surprise. “Your technology is very impressive.”  
  
“It’s _not_ just the technology,” Octavia told her firmly. “It’s Clarke. She’s a healer- a really good one.” She caught Clarke’s smile and rolled her eyes. “Shut up,” she said, but she was smiling too.  
  
Octavia watched as Clarke went to Bellamy’s IV pole and removed the empty bag, replacing it with a fresh one and adjusting the drip rate. The whole time, Bellamy was trying to get at her, trying to kill her probably, or at least attack. For now, the restraints held.  
  
Octavia was about to suggest that they revert to their shifts, rather than having three people standing there staring at him, but before she could, Bellamy’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body started convulsing again, the foam slipping out from his lips and oozing down his chin.  
  
Then he laid still.  
  
“Okay, this is it,” Clarke said, her voice edged with fear as she moved quickly, switching the defibrillator on and grabbing the paddles, squeezing gel onto them and rubbing them together for a moment before placing them on Bellamy’s chest.  
  
Clarke had instructed Octavia on the machine’s use, so once the paddles were in place and Clarke ordered them charged, she flipped the switch quickly and they listened to the low whine of the charge building up. Lia was watching them with absolute fascination, and Octavia grabbed her arm, yanking her well away from the bed so she wouldn’t be close to touching Bellamy when Clarke shocked him.  
  
Once the machine was ready, Clarke yelled, “Now!” and Octavia hit the button that would deliver the charge. She was holding her breath, and she didn’t realise it, but she was squeezing Lia’s arm like a vice as she watched her brother’s body tense up and then relax.  
  
There was about two seconds of absolute tension as Clarke lifted the paddles off him, and then he gasped, his eyes flying open again. His eyes were still red, but Octavia didn't care- he was alive. She let go of Lia and ran to Clarke, throwing her arms around the older girl and holding her close, feeling like crying, but grinning instead. Behind them, Bellamy resumed his snapping and snarling, but she didn’t care- he was alive.  
  
Finally she let go of Clarke, let her go and check his vitals, make sure everything was really stabilised, and when Clarke nodded her head with satisfaction Octavia breathed the biggest sigh of relief of her entire life.  
  
“You brought him back from the dead,” Lia said suddenly from beside her, and her eyes were huge, her mouth slightly parted. It was the most emotion Octavia had ever seen on her face.  
  
“I told you,” she said to the little girl, drawing her attention. “Clarke’s a badass healer. We do _that_ a few more times, and Bellamy will be good as new.” She glanced at Lia’s arm and saw bruises in the shapes of her own fingers, so she added, “Sorry about that.”  
  
She frowned suddenly in annoyance at the fact that she had apologised to Lincoln’s murderer. But somehow, in that moment, Lia was just a little girl, full of wonder at something she’d never seen before. Octavia put some distance between them, focusing on her brother again, who was still trying very hard to escape his restraints and kill them all.  
  
Staying a safe distance away but leaning down to his eye level, she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face as she told him, “You _are_ going to make it.”


	70. 70- Bellamy

Pain like fire against his skin. Eyes squeezed shut against light, head rolling side to side, hair plastered to sweaty face like a second skin, cloying and heavy. Constant nausea, hands trembling, wrists and ankles raw and bleeding, pulled against loops of leather keeping him from release.  
  
Cravings for Red like agony, unfulfilled, like dying. Panic and horrible suffering, anxiety, fear, urgency with no words to voice it.  
  
Faces hovering in and out of view- loved faces, faces he knows, faces he cares for- faces he would like to murder, faces he would like to tear into, bite and claw and hurt, for not giving him what he needs. Like gnats circling him, useless and irritating.  
  
Breath hot, laboured, sleep elusive, dreams like horror shows when he does sleep. Skin prickling, tingling, burning, a crushing weight sliding down across limbs, heart pounding, muscles tensing up and then going soft like jelly. The feeling of insects burrowing in and taking small bites, taking everything.  
  
Distorted vision, hallucinations, terrible frightening monsters all around him, feeling sanity flowing out of him like blood, replaced with the terrible agony of waiting. Waiting for Red, waiting for freedom, waiting to die.  
  
Snapping jaws toward a finger, an arm, a body. Feeling cool cloth against his skin, freezing like fire, each water droplet trickling down like lava. Restraints pulled, slicing at tender flesh around ankles and wrists, refusing to give way.  
  
Hearing like being underwater, head pounding, ringing in his ears as though he is far away from sound. Then the steady drip, drip, drip of the IV, inescapable, dull throbbing in his hand, cannula keeping his vein open, not for Red but for clear liquid, so cool it burns. The desperation to pull it out, the frustration of not being able to. His body not his own, enslaved and captive.  
  
Echo coming to him in his dreams, Echo in the cage next to him, asking him for help, blaming him, hating him, promising. Her eyes when he swears he’ll be back for her haunting him, and the taste of her blood, sweet and metallic on his tongue, like a beautiful dream.  
  
Reality is not beautiful, and the faces he sees when he’s awake only remind him of how far-gone he is. If only he could get at them, the gnats of his sister, of Clarke, of Lia, buzzing around him, tending to him, giving him everything he doesn't need and nothing he does. If only he could get at them he would gladly rip their hair out in chunks, tear off their arms, slit their throats and dig into their necks with his teeth, if only he could have a single dose of Red.  
  
Suffering like a constant companion, laying itself over him, seeping into his every pore like sap- never able to breathe fully, never able to sleep properly, never able to see through the brightness, taste anything but the dryness of his mouth.  
  
He can’t hear through the rushing in his ears, can’t smell through the acrid sweat that drips down his cheeks like tears. He can’t touch anything because his skin is gone, exposed nerve endings on every inch of him, receiving only pain while craving only the pleasure of the drug.  
  
The knowledge that there is a solution to all this pain, all this suffering and unease and restlessness, and that there is a bounty of it right outside this room- it would be so easy. Fantasies more vivid than any dream, of sliding that needle deep into his neck, of loading vial after vial of Red, depressing the syringe, filling his veins until the red of his blood turns luminous, until he succumbs to a death so perfect he can almost taste it.  
  
When he sleeps, there is agony and suffering.  
  
When he wakes, the same.  
  
The yearning for Red is like grief, worse than any he’s ever felt, bottomless.  
  
His body convulses, shakes- the spasm of muscles, more pain- the world disappears as his eyes roll. Then he slips backwards into death like bliss- finally quiet, finally free of pain, finally able to rest. There is nothing better than this sweet release- death is even better than Red, better than anything, the blackness like the soft embrace of his mother’s arms, eternally good.  
  
Then he is jolted to life again- back to agony, back to suffering, back to senses assaulted and body imprisoned and that terrible, terrible craving.  
  
The gnats celebrate this renewed pain, his return to life, like it’s a gift.


	71. 71- Clarke

She woke with a start, not even realising she’d fallen asleep in the chair. She quickly sat up, but then regretted the motion as her neck seized up from the position she’d been sleeping in. She reached, up, massaging it gently, then looked around the dark room. She was alone except for Bellamy, but she didn’t have to check that he was okay- he was still making those horrible sounds, a low drone of grumbling, shrieking, and groaning. She could make out his shape on the bed, his head tossing from side to side, his arms and legs clenched- always- against the restraints.  
  
After working through the strain in her neck, she pulled to her feet and walked over to Bellamy, staying well out of reach of him. She ignored the snarls and increasing agitation in his posture as she watched the monitor, making sure all his vital signs were still okay. They were, so she picked up the clipboard to make a note of it, then smiled as she realised that while she'd slept, Octavia had dutifully kept up the record on her own. Maybe she’d decided that writing everything down wasn’t such a horrible thing to do- but Clarke very much doubted that. Probably she was just keeping it up because she figured it would let Clarke do her job more easily, and save him.  
  
Clarke checked the level of his fluids and then finally looked down at Bellamy’s face. His expression was twisted in agony, his brow sweaty, his hair thickened into clumps, his eyes wild and red. She circled around him and watched as his gaze followed her, watched as he bared his teeth and raged at her. She wondered if he was trying to say real words, or whether he was just raving.  
  
“I’m right here,” she said softly to him, despite the fact that his response was to gnash his teeth and scream at her. “We’re going to get through this,” she told him. “You’re going to get better.”  
  
She could see blood dripping from his wrists and she grabbed her little flashlight, making sure to point it at the ground as she turned it on. Bellamy still reacted, twisting his head around to look away from her, away from the light.  
  
She shined the flashlight on his wrist and examined the wounds carefully. His constant straining against the leather cuffs had turned them a dark brownish red, and although the wounds themselves were superficial, he was always reopening them, never giving them time to heal. She tried to remind herself that they would soon be just more scars on his body, but still, it hurt her to see it.  
  
Clarke would have liked to clean and dress the wounds, but she knew that was impossible. Instead she dabbed at them with a clean cloth, making Bellamy redouble his struggles, and finally she just left it alone, realising it would cause him more anxiety and pain that it was worth.  
  
She turned away and put her hands flat on the trolley of supplies, taking big breaths, trying to calm herself down. It was so hard to see him like this, to be able to almost _nothing_ for him, except wait it out. But she managed not to break down, not to cry about it, not to let herself get so upset that she couldn't get through this. There would be time for the shock of all this to catch up to her- to all of them- later.  
  
Clarke could see that Octavia was doing the same thing. The younger girl acted as though Bellamy’s words the day before hadn’t bothered her, or that she’d forgotten them, but Clarke knew it wasn’t true. What he’d said to her had been hurtful enough, but even the small bit she’d overheard him saying to Octavia had been even worse.  
  
“Addicts hurt the ones they love the most,” she said softly, almost under her breath. She tried to let that comfort her, that half-remembered line from when she was still a medical apprentice, still studying under her mother and the other staff in sickbay. It seemed like so long ago, so impossibly long that it must have been another life, another person- it couldn’t have been _her._ Sometimes she’d wondered how they’d all survived at all, experiencing such horrors in such a short span of time.  
  
Suddenly she realised that Bellamy had gone quiet.  
  
Hurrying back to his side, she glanced at the monitor and saw that his heart rhythm had totally changed, and was rapidly going downhill. She took exactly one second to register that and allow herself to panic, and then she sprung into action, running to the defibrillator and turning it on to charge, then hurrying to the door and screaming for Octavia before running back to his side and getting the paddles ready for the shock.  
  
Octavia and Lia both burst in just as Clarke was laying the paddles on Bellamy’s chest, and quickly Octavia went to the machine and waited for Clarke to give the order to shock him.  
  
Clarke looked to make sure nothing would interfere with the charge and then said, “Now!”  
  
Bellamy’s body’s tensed and his back arched as the electricity surged through him, and then he went still again. When he didn’t immediately revive, Clarke put the paddles down and placed her hands over his sternum, interlacing her fingers and starting chest compressions.  
  
Octavia’s face looked stricken, as though she couldn’t quite believe that the shock hadn’t worked. Clarke met her eyes, thinking to give her some kind of reassurance, but she knew her own expression must have been grim as well.  
  
Inside her head, she counted to sixty, and then she pulled away from his chest and grabbed the paddles once more. Bellamy still wasn’t moving.  
  
“Again,” she said to Octavia, who flipped the switch, delivering another charge through the paddles and into Bellamy’s chest. Again, his body stiffened and arched, but again when he collapsed back into the bed, he showed no signs of life. Clarke resumed her chest compressions.  
  
“It’s not working,” Octavia said, her voice rising in panic with every word. “Why isn’t it working?”  
  
“Come here,” Clarke said, and Octavia ran to her side. “Tilt his head back and open his mouth." Octavia swallowed but did what she said. Clarke kept up with the chest compressions as she said to Octavia, “Now you’re going to pinch his nose and blow into his mouth- two big breaths for every thirty compressions I do. Okay?”  
  
“I’m ready,” Octavia said, leaning close to Bellamy and watching his face, which was totally slack and unresponsive.  
  
“Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven,” Clarke counted aloud with every push of her hands. “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.” She stopped the compressions and Octavia leaned down quickly, covering Bellamy’s mouth with hers and blowing one long breath into his mouth, and then another. Clarke went back to his chest, lining up her hands again and restarting the compressions.  
  
“Please, Bellamy,” Octavia started whispering urgently into his ear. “Please wake up… please, please, Bell, please wake up.” Tears started slipping down her cheeks, but she held it together enough to wait for Clarke to reach the thirty count again, and then again Octavia leaned down and gave him two more breaths. Again, nothing happened.  
  
Clarke kept working on his chest, staring at his face, willing something to happen. The twitch of a muscle, the flutter of an eyelid- anything. Octavia’s pleas and promises soon became a begging mantra for him to wake up. But he was so still, so dead-looking, that it seemed like there was no hope. But she knew she couldn’t lose it- none of them could.  
  
“Lia, grab me that syringe on the trolley,” she ordered. “It’s a little clear tube with liquid in it.”  
  
“I know what a syringe is,” Lia said, going to the trolley and picking up the adrenaline that Clarke had drawn up and laid out earlier.  
  
“Octavia, switch with me,” Clarke ordered, guiding the younger girl’s hands into the right position and letting her resume the compressions. “Count out loud,” she told her, starting her off, “Eighteen, nineteen…”  
  
“… twenty, twenty-one,” Octavia continued.  
  
Clarke took the syringe from Lia and attached it to one of the ports on Bellamy’s fluid line. She felt sick to her stomach, like vomiting. She knew this was the last resort. This, plus one more shock, and if nothing happened then she’d have to call it, declare him dead. And then what? She looked at Octavia’s terrified face and wondered, could any of them go on after that?  
  
“One milligram epinephrine, administering now,” she said out loud as she depressed the plunger on the syringe and delivered the medicine.  
  
“… twenty-six, twenty-seven,” Octavia was still counting.  
  
Clarke leaned in close to Bellamy’s face and she swept a hand over his forehead and through his hair. “Please,” she whispered to him, hearing the crack in her voice, feeling her own tears welling up. “Please don’t leave us.”  
  
“… twenty-nine,” Octavia continued.  
  
At the count of thirty, Clarke covered Bellamy’s mouth with her own and breathed into it- two long, sustained breaths. She watched his chest rise and she knew that air was getting through, at least. But she couldn’t help the horrible thought that this might be the last time she felt his lips under hers.  
  
Bellamy didn’t move, didn't stir. He did nothing at all.  
  
“Okay,” Clarke said, trying to pull strength back into her voice. “Let’s shock him again.”  
  
“How long does this continue for?” Lia asked.  
  
Clarke and Octavia’s eyes met but they ignored the question as Clarke put the paddles back onto his chest. “Hit him,” Clarke told Octavia, who dutifully flipped the switch and delivered the shock.  
  
Setting the paddles back down, Clarke resumed chest compressions immediately, counting out loud, feeling her dread growing with every number.  
  
“… twelve,” Clarke said, her voice shaking. “Thirteen... fourteen...”  
  
Finally she got to the twenties and she could barely speak. Octavia noticed the obvious grief in her voice and her face crumpled. She leaned over her brother, resting her forehead against his and clutching his hair, sobbing quietly as her tears dropped onto his cheeks, making it look like Bellamy, too, was crying.  
  
“… twenty-four,” Clarke whispered. “Twenty-five.” She felt one of his ribs snap under her hands but kept going, “Twenty-six. Twenty-seven.”  
  
Bellamy’s body suddenly reanimated and his eyes snapped open, his mouth pulling in air in deep gasps, as if he could never get enough. Octavia collapsed over his chest, sobbing, clinging to him. Clarke reached out to pull her away, warn her off in case Bellamy might hurt her, but then his turned his face into the crook of Octavia’s shoulder and whispered, “Hey, O.”  
  
“Impossible,” Lia whispered, but she was clearly impressed- maybe even happy.  
  
Octavia pulled back, her tears stopping- from shock or joy, Clarke wasn’t sure which. Octavia took his face in her hands and looked at him, and Clarke crept closer, noticing the change in him, that he didn’t try to attack them, didn’t try to break his restraints, didn’t even try to shake Octavia off. Once Clarke was alongside the bed, she could see that his eyes were no longer red, but back to that soft brown gaze that she knew so well. The relief was almost overpowering.  
  
“Bellamy,” Clarke breathed, drawing in a shaky breath and then releasing it, feeling the dam of her tears break at the same time, and then her face was wet too. Octavia reached back and grabbed Clarke’s hand, pulling her closer, and together the two of them smiled down at him, Octavia keeping a hand on his face while her other hand squeezed Clarke’s tightly. Clarke swept her fingers through Bellamy’s curls and asked him softly, “Are you okay?”  
  
He licked his lips and let out a shuddering breath of his own before he said, very quietly, his voice strained, “Yeah. I think so.”  
  
Octavia grabbed Clarke up in her arms and squeezed her so hard she thought she might break, but she didn’t care, she just hugged her back, both of them crying, holding each other, grinning through their tears.  
  
When they broke apart and looked at Bellamy again, he was smiling. His voice was raw but also wry and gentle as he said, “Well… if I’d known something like this would make you two friends again, I’d have done it a long time ago.”  
  
Clarke and Octavia turned their heads in unison to look at each other, and both of them burst into nervous laughter, as though he’d just said the funniest thing in the world.


	72. 72- Octavia

Once Bellamy woke up that last time, and he was no longer crazy, no longer irrational or dangerous, she and Clarke undid his restraints and Clarke cleaned and dressed the wounds on his wrists and ankles.  
  
“So that’s it, right?” Octavia asked nervously as she watched Clarke working, watched her brother’s head bowed towards her, a soft smile on his lips. He looked peaceful- truly peaceful- for the first time in weeks. They both turned and looked at her so she clarified, “He’s fine now?”  
  
Clarke nodded. “He’s through the worst of it.” She pressed her fingers lightly into Bellamy’s chest, feeling for the rib she’d broken during resuscitation. He hissed a little in pain, but Clarke nodded her head, seeming satisfied. “It’ll heal, just take it easy.”  
  
Octavia’s eyes slid to her brother. “Bell?”  
  
“I’m okay,” he assured her, reaching out the one hand that was now dressed in clean white bandages. She went to him and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her into his side.  
  
“He’ll always be an addict,” Clarke said, drawing the attention of both Blakes back to her. “He’ll always crave it. It’s part of his biochemistry now.”  
  
Octavia thought of Lincoln, how they’d worked so hard to detox him and then, when he was faced with the opportunity again, he’d still taken the drug. She felt tears welling up in her eyes- thinking of Lincoln, yes, but also thinking of Bellamy, of what could still happen to him. Lincoln was so strong, yet still he’d bowed to that overpowering craving. Would Bellamy do the same?  
  
“Hey, O, it’s okay,” her brother said gently, pulling her from her thoughts. “That’s not going to happen.”  
  
She shot him a grateful look for reading her mind and pulled in a deep breath, steadying herself, nodding. “I know.”  
  
Delicately Clarke said, “I’m sure we can all agree that we never want to step foot in the Ice Nation ever again. So as long as we stay away from anywhere that has Red, you should be fine.”  
  
All eyes slid to Lia now, still perched on her chair in the corner, still watching them all, as though they were performing a fascinating play. They all gave her an opportunity to speak, but she said nothing, she just slid off her chair and walked outside.  
  
Octavia felt the baby stirring inside her, the baby that Echo had taught her to keep close, nurture but not unleash. It was a rage baby, wanting vengeance. But instead of going after Lia and strangling her or stabbing her as she wanted to, she just looked at Clarke and her brother and asked, “So what are we going to do with her?”  
  
“Nothing,” Bellamy said right away. “There’s nothing we _can_ do. You know what she’s capable of.”  
  
“Well what is she still _doing_ here, then?” Octavia growled. “She said she’d bring us here, see us safely to the gates. Well we’re here, we’re safe- bonus, you’re through with that horrible drug. Why doesn’t she just _go?”_  
  
Softly Clarke said, taping off the last bandage, “There’s nowhere she can go.” She smiled at Bellamy and added, “Those should heal up fine. We’ll just keep them clean.”  
  
“Thanks,” Bellamy said softly, curling his fingertips along Clarke’s arm.  
  
“She _can’t_ stay here,” Octavia spoke up, interrupting their moment. “And neither can I.”  
  
That got Bellamy’s attention and he slid off the bed and onto his feet, his brow furrowed, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “Hey, what are you talking about?”  
  
“I can’t,” she said, shrugging away from his touch, crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice wavered as she insisted, “There’s nothing for me here.”  
  
She caught Clarke’s sympathetic look and for some reason that made her even more angry, even more upset.  
  
But Bellamy stroked a hand over her hair and grounded her enough that she didn’t bolt. He said softly, “O. Come on, we talked about this. _I’m_ here.”  
  
Octavia shook her head. “We were wrong,” she told him. “This is a graveyard, Bell. I can’t stay here- it’s going to make me crazy.” Now that he was better, she could no longer shove her claustrophobia down as easily. Every cell in her body was screaming at her to get out of here, into the woods, somewhere big and open and safe, and not filled with dead bodies and memories of the man she loved.  
  
“Well she’s right about that,” Clarke said quietly. “This is a graveyard.”  
  
“Okay,” Bellamy said, drawing in a deep breath. Octavia watched him steel himself for the next challenge and she felt a pang of guilt- would he ever be able to rest? Would any of them?  
  
“Bell, just rest,” she said gently. “Let’s all just rest here for the night and we’ll figure it out in the morning.”  
  
The glance that passed between Bellamy and Clarke told her that they wanted nothing more than to do that, to just sleep and put their problems off until the morning.  
  
Bellamy eyed her carefully and asked, “Are you going to run?”  
  
Octavia shook her head. Sincerely she said, “No, I’m not going to run.”  
  
She had lied to him- really lied to him- exactly once in her life, after he’d tortured Lincoln and she’d asked her if he’d helped him escape, she’d lied to his face and said that she didn’t. They’d both known it hadn’t been true, and they’d both been uncertain about what to do with that knowledge. But she was telling the truth now; she wasn’t going to run.  
  
Bellamy nodded and said, “Okay then.”  
  
“What about his heart?” Octavia asked Clarke. “Is it still dangerous for him to run?”  
  
“We should monitor you for a little while longer,” Clarke said, answering Octavia’s question but addressing Bellamy. “I’d like to keep you on the monitor overnight, and maybe part of tomorrow too depending on what the readings are in the morning.”  
  
Octavia stepped close to Bellamy and put her hand on his chest, closing her eyes to feel the rhythm of his heart. It was still weird, but definitely less weird. She glanced at the monitor and noticed that even the little line blipping across the screen looked better- no longer so erratic, it was more or less in an even pattern.  
  
She dropped her hand and looked at Clarke, nodding. “Well, at least we can all get cleaned off in the solar showers and eat a proper meal,” she said to them. Again, they both looked like they thought that was the best idea in the world.  
  
“I want you to stay on this monitor for another hour, and then we can disconnect it and you can get cleaned up,” Clarke told Bellamy. “Okay?”  
  
He nodded. “Sure thing,” he said, smiling gently at her. “I’m just glad to be alive. A shower can wait.”  
  
“Well, let’s not wait too long,” Octavia teased him gently. “Because you stink.”  
  
The laughter that caused seemed to melt away the rest of the tension and Bellamy eased himself back on the bed. Octavia watched Clarke take his hand and she knew they probably needed a minute. Touching Clarke’s arm lightly she said, “I’ll start up the showers. See you there.”  
  
Clarke nodded and smiled at her. “I’ll be there soon.”  
  
Octavia went down the hall to room that had been repurposed as a communal latrine and shower area, one of the first things that had been set up at Camp Jaha. God forbid anyone feel like a savage in this new world, she tried not to think too scathingly. Even though the electricity was down, the showers were just black bags heated by the sun through the skylights, and it was a beautiful day, so she knew they would still work.  
  
Undressing, Octavia tucked her clothes into a cubby and just stood there for a moment, feeling strange with the cool tile under her feet, the only one here in this big room. Finally she shook the thought away, focusing on how nice it would be to feel clean. She grabbed some shampoo and stepped into one of the cubicles, closing the door and turning the plug on the bag to open the shower. Warm water cascaded down her body and she just stood there for a moment, enjoying the feeling.  
  
She tried not to think of Raven Rock, the last time she’d had a shower, the decontamination room or everything that came after. The flowing water mingled with the tears on her face as she thought of Lincoln, imagined his blood on the similar tile floor of her room in the mountain. If only he could have stayed alive… if only he could be here with her now. Why did it have to happen that way? What was the point?  
  
Octavia heard the door to the room open and she pulled back her tears, calling out, “Clarke?” She wanted to make sure it wasn’t Lia.  
  
“It’s me,” Clarke’s voice came back, and Octavia heard her step into the cubicle next to hers. Her own water started to flow, followed by a contented sigh.  
  
“Feels good, huh?” Octavia said with a smile, glad to be distracted from her thoughts.  
  
“Bellamy’s going to be okay now,” Clarke said gently. Octavia wasn’t sure if she said it because she could tell that she’d been crying, or if she was just saying it out loud to reassure them both.  
  
“Thanks to you,” Octavia answered warmly. “I knew you’d save him.” It wasn’t that she was no longer angry at Clarke- on some level, she would always hold bitterness against her for tonDC, for Lexa- but she also felt so much gratitude that she’d saved Bellamy’s life, and Lincoln’s before him, and her respect for her was growing and becoming strong again.  
  
A silence grew between them, but it was comfortable. Only when the last droplets of water had been shaken from the bag did Octavia grudgingly leave her cubicle, stepping out into the main room and grabbing a towel. Again, it felt very strange to be in that room alone, when normally there were so many people passing through, busy and chatting, laughing and joking. Describing Camp Jaha as a graveyard felt very fitting.  
  
Octavia heard Clarke’s cubicle open and glanced over, flashing her a grin as she asked, “Wasn’t that the best-” She broke off, frowning as she saw Clarke staring at her, her eyes huge and her mouth hanging open.  
  
Blushing, Octavia wrapped the towel around herself and a bit of annoyance slipped into her voice as she said, “You’re into Bellamy, remember? Not me.”  
  
“No,” Clarke said, shaking her head, a blush creeping onto her cheeks as well, but it faded almost immediately as she closed the distance between them and just stared at her. There was something about the expression that Octavia didn’t like, that made her feel nervous- it looked like Clarke wanted to tell her something but didn’t know how, or was afraid of what her reaction might be.  
  
“Spit it out,” she said finally, a bit harsher than she intended. Clarke drew in a deep breath but she still hesitated. “Seriously!” she snapped. _“What?”_  
  
“Octavia, you’re pregnant,” Clarke said, her voice full of disbelief, swallowing hard as she shook her head. “Please tell me you know that you’re pregnant.”  
  
Octavia stared at her, thinking she must be absolutely insane. Then she looked down at herself. For the first time she noticed the gentle roundness protruding from her belly, felt the slight heaviness there, and as she put her hand on her lower tummy and splayed her fingers below her belly button, pressing firmly with her palm, it felt strange, like she’d swallowed a particularly ripe fruit.  
  
She felt like she was going to vomit, like she might pass out. Her knees went weak and she staggered, but Clarke reached out to grab her, supporting her weight and easing her down to the floor, where she knelt beside her, wrapping her in a towel.  
  
“Lincoln,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her stomach, hardly able to believe it, yet somehow knowing without a shadow of a doubt that it was true. Clarke nodded, reaching up to press a palm against her cheek. Octavia looked at her and whispered, “But I don’t feel anything.” Her heart clenched in sudden horror and she wondered if it was dead, if she’d poisoned it over the last few weeks, imagining an angry little baby of rage living inside her.  
  
But Clarke’s voice was reassuring as she said gently, “You wouldn't yet. You look like you’re less than halfway through. It’s normal not to feel anything.”  
  
Octavia drew in a deep breath and let it out shakily, astounded by how relieved she felt. She let Clarke pull her into her arms, let her stroke her hair as she sobbed into her shoulder. All she felt was grief- horrible, unending grief- and no happiness at all. Wasn’t something like this supposed to be joyful?  
  
But all she could think about was how Lincoln was dead, how he’d never know about this, how young and unprepared she was, and how bad the timing was for something like this, how scary it felt to be facing it now, but also how precious this life was- her one chance to keep something of him. The combination of emotions- of fears and hopes- was absolutely overwhelming.  
  
“What am I going to do?” Octavia whispered.  
  
Clarke gave her a gentle smile and said, “Let’s start with getting up off this floor, how about that?”  
  
Drawing in a big breath, Octavia wiped the tears from her face and nodded, getting to her feet. The two of them dried off and put their clothes back on, and Octavia noticed that the soft leathers weren’t tight across her stomach- not yet. Maybe Clarke was right- maybe things were still early enough that she wouldn’t have messed this up yet.  
  
“How long were we gone?” she asked, trying to figure it out. She tried to think back to all the travelling, the different places she’d been, the changes in the season. “Three months?”  
  
“Almost four by what Bellamy told me,” Clarke said gently. “So you must be at least that far along, maybe a bit further.”  
  
Octavia knew it took nine months to have a baby. The prospect of how little time remained was totally daunting. It made her feel dizzy with dread, and then guilt.  
  
Lia suddenly appeared in the doorway and said, “There is movement in the woods, near the fence. Bellamy is waiting for you outside and he is very agitated.”  
  
Clarke shot Octavia the most apologetic look she’d ever seen and then bolted from the room. Pulling in a breath to steady herself, Octavia followed. Clarke was standing with Bellamy down the corridor- Octavia checked his eyes to see if he’d overheard anything, but he hadn’t- he still didn’t know. It was so strange that something so profound was happening in her life, and her brother didn’t know.  
  
Clarke was saying, “We should have repaired the fence.”  
  
“Come on,” Octavia said as she joined them, actually grateful for the distraction, pushing all thoughts of pregnancy aside. “None of us know how to do that.”  
  
“Well we should have figured it out!” Clarke snapped at her, but Octavia wasn’t angry. She knew Clarke wasn’t either- she was scared.  
  
Bellamy put a hand on Clarke’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze of reassurance. He asked Lia, “Could you see who it was?”  
  
“No,” the little girl answered. “I suggest you conceal yourselves inside the station. It may be that the people who killed your friends are returning to check for survivors or raid the camp for supplies.”  
  
Octavia hated that idea- of hiding, cowering in fear while people scoured their former home. “If there aren’t too many then we can stay hidden until they come close and attack them,” she suggested. “Maybe take one alive so we can figure out who they are and what they want.”  
  
“That’s too dangerous,” Clarke said, giving her a pointed look, which irritated her- as if she’d suddenly become incompetent to fight.  
  
Before she could retort anything, Lia said, almost conversationally, “If they are the enemy, would you like me to kill them all except for one so you can question him?”  
  
“No,” Octavia snapped, then thought better of it. Grudgingly she added, “But that would be a good idea.”  
  
Bellamy and Clarke exchanged a look and then Clarke said to Lia, “Do it.”  
  
The girl walked off calmly, and Clarke led them back into sickbay and towards the back, where there was a little closet used to store medicines and supplies. Clarke barricaded the door with one of the heavy metal trolleys, locking them in.  
  
Octavia could feel Bellamy’s eyes on her. “Is this okay?” he asked her quietly.  
  
“Yeah, it’s fine,” she said, maybe a little too short with him. “Has to be done- just like in the floor.”  
  
He nodded, but she saw the concern linger in his eyes, which didn’t really help her ignore the feeling of being confined and stifled. She just reminded herself it was temporary- Lia was a machine, she’d work fast.  
  
Inside that little room, the secret that she and Clarke now held together seemed incredibly big. If Bellamy sensed it, he didn’t ask any questions. She debated talking to him now, but she had no idea how he’d react and she knew they still had to be careful about his heart. So she stayed quiet, but it felt so wrong.  
  
If Octavia was being fully honest, she desperately wanted his comfort, his advice, to tell him what was happening and hear him say that it would somehow be okay. Maybe from his lips, she would believe it.


	73. 73- Clarke

She couldn’t believe Octavia was pregnant, and that she had been this whole time and didn’t even know it. She couldn’t help but worry about what had happened over the last few months- in particular, the incident with Lia in the mountain, when Octavia was darted and hanged. Would that have harmed the baby? Had she told the truth when she said all would be fine? She wished she’d paid more attention to obstetrics lessons when she was apprenticing in medical on the Ark.  
  
Now that she knew, she couldn't unsee the swell of Octavia’s belly under her clothes, and she wondered just how she’d missed it before now. It had taken seeing Octavia totally naked, with the inward curve of her back and the protrusion of her stomach completely on display, before Clarke had been able to see that she was pregnant.  
  
She couldn’t help but steal a glance at Bellamy, wondering how on Earth he was going to react to this. It would be a shock, to be sure- but a happy shock? She couldn't say. His overprotectiveness of Octavia could extend to a baby, to be sure, but would his worry for his sister’s youth, inexperience, and emotional state override that?  
  
There was no way to tell, but Clarke couldn’t help but think- privately- that this was no time for Octavia to be embarking on motherhood. She could hardly even hold herself together. Then again, sometimes a child could give someone a reason to live, and having a part of Lincoln could provide a lot of comfort.  
  
She could have debated the pros and cons with herself all day, but her thoughts were soon interrupted as she heard movement in the medical bay. One quick glance at the Blakes told them they’d heard it too, and Bellamy eased himself forward, putting himself closest to the door, ready to shield both Clarke and Octavia with his body if necessary. Clarke couldn’t believe that Lia had worked quite _that_ fast- had she already done as promised, killed all but one and brought them a prisoner on a silver platter?  
  
Then she heard Raven’s voice. “Bellamy? Octavia? Clarke?”  
  
Scrambling to their feet, they practically fell over each other to pull away the trolley and open the door. Raven wasn’t the only one standing there- she was flanked by Monty, Jasper, and Monroe. A few others, including Miller and Harper, hung back, securing the room and investigating what might have been taken in the initial attack. They looked exactly the same in many ways, but there were subtle differences- mostly in hair- that reminded Clarke just how long it had been.  
  
For a long moment they all just stood there, as though none of them could quite believe they were standing in the same room after all these months. Then, Monty was the first to move, running to Clarke and throwing his arms around her. The rest soon followed suit, all of them pulling Clarke into their arms at least once, and some of them also hugged Octavia and even Bellamy. Harper and Miller soon joined them, as did a few of the others.  
  
“You’re a guard?” Clarke asked Monroe in disbelief, noticing her uniform.  
  
“Hey, if I can be one, anyone can,” Bellamy said, looking happier than she’d seen him in a long time.  
  
Monroe shrugged. “Something to do. We didn’t think you were coming back. Glad we were wrong.”  
  
“Speak for yourself,” Raven said with a big smile in Clarke’s direction. “I knew you’d get around to bringing your ass home.”  
  
“Where’s Lincoln?” Jasper asked innocently. But Octavia’s face fell so far and so fast that everyone instantly knew what was wrong. Monroe hugged her and Octavia clung to the other girl, obviously struggling not to cry. Bellamy heaved a heavy sigh and reached out, stroking a hand over the back of his sister’s head.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Jasper said, looking at the floor.  
  
Octavia pulled away from Monroe and hugged him, shaking her head. “It’s okay, you didn’t know,” she said softly. Jasper hugged her back, looking relieved.  
  
“Where’s Lia?” Bellamy asked Raven.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“The little girl,” he explained. “The kid who met you at the gates.”  
  
Confusion rose up in everyone’s faces. “There wasn’t anyone at the gates,” Raven told him.  
  
Clarke frowned. “Then how did you know we were here?”  
  
“Surveillance,” Monty explained. “We’ve been watching Camp Jaha since we were forced into Mount Weather. When we saw you guys show up, we headed right back.”  
  
“Well, if ‘right back’ you mean two days later, after arguing with the council, forming a search party, and making the eight-hour walk to camp,” Miller said dryly, with a wry smile.  
  
“So where’s Lia?” Bellamy asked, despite the fact that no one had the answer.  
  
“Who cares,” Octavia said shortly.  
  
Clarke turned her attention to the others. “Who attacked you?” she asked. “How long ago was that? How many survived? Did they follow you when you left camp? We know you found another station- which one is it? How many people were on it? How long do you plan to stay in Mount Weather?”  
  
“Whoa there, Clarke,” Harper spoke up, giving her a small smile. “We don’t know the answer to all those questions. But it’s an eight-hour walk back to Mount Weather- we can tell you what we do know on the way. And I’m sure your mom will be able to explain even more.”  
  
Clarke’s eyes flew to Bellamy’s and she could see from his expression that he disliked that idea just as much as she did. Looking back to the others Clarke shook her head and said, “I’m not going back there.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Monty said gently. “We’ve made a lot of progress in there… cleaning up, moving supplies around, repurposing rooms. It’s like a different place.”  
  
“It’s the same place,” Clarke said stubbornly.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Bellamy told her. He raised his hand a little and she was sure he was going to touch her, but then he dropped it again. “I wouldn’t go in there either, before.”  
  
“Your mom’s been running a hospital out of the mountain practically since we got back,” Monty said. “They had so many supplies in there… equipment, pharmaceuticals.”  
  
Clarke knew exactly where those medicines had come from, and for some reason it made her feel nothing but regret- when those supplies ran out, that would be it. They had no alliance with the Ice Nation, and even if Eema and her armies won his war, there was no saying whether they would gain access to that vital trade.  
  
Suddenly she remembered with a start- Eema, the offer to join her coalition, the decision of whether or not to go to war.  
  
“I need to talk to my mom,” she said right away. “Her and the council. It’s important.”  
  
“Well great,” Miller said. “So I guess you’re coming back with us after all.”  
  
“Can’t they come here?” Octavia asked, speaking up for the first time in a while. Clarke doubted she cared whether they went to Mount Weather or not, but she was trying to protect her brother… and maybe Clarke, too. She must have known know hard it would be for both of them to go back there.  
  
Raven exchanged a glance with Monty. “It’s not safe here,” she said finally, gently. “It’s okay, we’ll be with you.”  
  
“Let’s just get it done,” Bellamy declared.  
  
“What have you guys been doing here for the last couple of days?” Harper spoke up suddenly, and Clarke looked and saw her standing in the doorway of the detox room, seeing the heart monitor, the defibrillator, the bandages, the cuffs dark with blood. Suddenly Clarke felt exposed, intruded upon, and she knew that if _she_ felt that way, Bellamy had to feel a thousand times worse.  
  
“Nothing,” she said, maybe a bit more sharply than she intended. Harper actually jumped a little, responding to the authority in Clarke’s tone and rejoining the group without another word.  
  
Raven put an arm around Octavia’s shoulders and asked gently, “You okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” Octavia said, shrugging her off, and Clarke saw a hand hover, just for a moment, over her stomach. “Why wouldn’t I be?”  
  
Seeming surprised or maybe hurt, Raven said, “I just meant… because of Lincoln…”  
  
Clarke could only imagine how incredibly neurotic they all seemed.  
  
Heading out of the station and into the sunlight, Clarke felt such a sense of dread rising up in her chest as she considered the prospect of going back to Mount Weather. She wanted to curl herself into Bellamy’s arms and hold him, be held by him, but she couldn’t shake what had happened inside, when he’d raised his hand to touch her and held back.  
  
She could understand if Bellamy wanted privacy, or if he wasn’t ready for their friends to find out about their relationship right now, and she tried to be pragmatic about it, but part of her was hurt, and part of her was scared. Would things be different, now that he was off the drugs, now that most of their interactions wouldn’t revolve around her giving him the thing his body wanted so badly? With all his senses about him, would he still want to be with her, desire her, care for her?  
  
She shook her head, internally admonishing herself for acting like such a teenager. She had about ten thousand more important priorities right now than worrying about whether Bellamy really liked her or not.  
  
With a jolt, Clarke suddenly realised that she’d just taken a very important step without even thinking about it- aside from her mother, she’d just reunited with everyone she’d been nervous about seeing again, and they had been nothing but warm to her, glad she was back.  
  
Maybe Bellamy was right… maybe anybody who might have been angry or hurt had forgiven her by now. Maybe they would all be happy to see her and nothing more. Maybe she really could just go home.


	74. 74- Octavia

It was the strangest thing, after all this time, after everything had changed so much, to be walking with her friends, through a familiar forest, on a beautiful day, flanked by uniformed guards and heading for Mount Weather.  
  
Even stranger, though she hated to admit it, was that Lia wasn’t there. She’d just vanished without a trace and never come back. It bothered Octavia that her absence bothered her.  
  
Octavia kept near the back of the group, and she passed the first hour in silence, listening to the pockets of small talk that were happening in front of her.  
  
She heard Raven tell Clarke about the new walkies she and Wick had developed, which not only allowed for communication but could also be tracked from the command centre, so if anyone went missing they could be recovered quickly. Monroe added, “Kane wanted them to be implants. But your mom talked him out of it- nobody wants to be tracked quite _that_ efficiently.”  
  
Octavia’s eyes flew to her brother, walking nearby, and she watched him trail the fingers of his right hand over his left forearm, where he still bore a small white scar. She knew that’s where Mount Weather had implanted a tracking device of their own, which Maya had sliced from his skin on his first day in the mountain. She watched the shape of him change, watched the demons grow heavy on his shoulders, and she felt a pang- not just for him, but also for Clarke. How would they handle stepping back into that place, after all this time? They had avoided it for so long, and she could only imagine that would make it worse.  
  
She turned her attention to Jasper, who was walking alone, like she was, separate from the group but present, head slightly down, eyes on the ground. When they’d first come back from Mount Weather he’d shorn his hair almost to the scalp and kept it that way for weeks, but she could see now that he was growing it out again, and she hoped that meant he was as healed as he could be from the pain of losing Maya.  
  
But he and Monty were still separate, Monty walking next to Harper, heads bowed toward one another, speaking words so softly that Octavia couldn’t catch them. They seemed closer than the last time she’d seen them, and she wondered if something had sparked between them or if it had always been there and she hadn’t noticed when she'd still been living in camp- too preoccupied with her distrust of Lincoln’s guard uniform, or too focused on helping her brother through his trauma.  
  
Miller had fallen into step next to Bellamy, and the two were walking silently together- she couldn’t help but think they were like old friends, never particularly close yet comfortable enough that they needed no conversation. That was normal for how Bellamy made friends- arms length, close but not too close, useful but not emotional.  
  
But finally, once they were on the ground, that had changed slowly over time, and Octavia knew why.  
  
Her eye slid back to Clarke, the other half of Bellamy’s first real friendship, his first deep human connection that wasn’t to a person who shared his blood, and she couldn’t help but wonder where this might go from here. She knew it had become something more, but would that continue?  
  
And what about herself? What was _she_ going to do? Facing hers and Lincoln’s tent had been horrible, and it had hurt her to gather the precious possessions that represented their life together, to see how few they were, how small a space it filled in the satchel she now held on her back. They’d had such a brief time together, and it was so unfair- his death so meaningless, and yet it cut so deep.  
  
Now she had one more thing to carry, one more thing that belonged to him, and it turned out to be the biggest thing of all.  
  
A baby. A life. Something growing- a promise.  
  
But also something terrifying, something unknown and scary and overwhelming. And so, so sad, because Lincoln would never know, never meet his own child.  
  
It felt so wrong.  
  
Octavia heaved a heavy sigh, not meaning for it to be as loud as it was, and she looked up to see if anyone noticed. Of course Bellamy had. He was stopped on the path up ahead, letting Miller go on without him, and for some reason Octavia stopped as well, just standing there, staring at him. He didn’t say anything to her, didn’t frown in confusion or urge her on- he just waited. He knew something was up.  
  
She stood there until all the guards had passed her by, a couple of them tossing her perplexed looks, but none of them saying anything. This was it- her moment, her opportunity to bring it up with him, to tell him her secret.  
  
She considered not telling him, but he already knew- maybe not _what,_ but he knew. Something was wrong, something had changed, and he was fully aware.  
  
Soon they were alone on the path, everyone up ahead, only a few curious looks thrown back at them and then withdrawn- likely soothed away by Clarke, who was the only other person who knew what Octavia was about to do.  
  
Finally walking to Bellamy, closing the distance between them, she couldn’t help but move slowly. She just watched her brother’s face. She was aware of the gravity of this moment- that this was the last time he would not know... the last time he would not have her baby added to his list of burdens- the last time he would not have it piled on top of his other stresses and concerns.  
  
When she reached him she looked at him and saw the compassion in his eyes, how he looked at her with such love- even when they fought, even when they screamed and yelled and raged and stormed away from one another, there was always that tether between them. That deep, unspoken connection built on the fact that for sixteen years, they had been the centre of each other’s universes. She knew, now, that it wasn’t normal. But it was still good.  
  
After a short silence passed and she still hadn’t said anything, Bellamy opened his arms and she stepped into them, burying her face in the curve of his shoulder and holding him tightly, sliding a hand into his hair and anchoring herself. She felt his strong arms encircle her and pull her close, and she just let out a long, shuddering breath of relief, not even realising that she’d been holding it until she let it go.  
  
He stroked a hand over her hair and squeezed her tight. He held her for a long time, listening as she pulled in another deep breath and let it out slow. “Is it Lincoln?” he asked softly.  
  
Octavia broke away from him, shaking her head, then nodding, then letting out a soft, humourless laugh. He just watched her closely- patient, content to wait.  
  
She didn’t know how to tell him, so she just looked at him, took strength from his calm brown gaze and said it. “I’m pregnant, Bell.”  
  
A strange, almost blank expression came over him and he blinked several times before his gaze fell to her stomach. He looked back at her face and asked, “Are you sure?”  
  
“I’m sure,” she answered, nodding, knowing there was no doubt. “Clarke was the one who noticed, but I know it’s true.”  
  
“When?” She wished she could understand the meaning of his odd tone.  
  
“Earlier, in the showers.”  
  
Bellamy drew in a deep breath and then he let it out. She couldn’t read him. She didn’t know if he was upset, scared, angry, disbelieving, or sad. “Bell-”  
  
He held up a hand, silencing her. “Just- just give me one second.” She did- it was hard, but she gave him the same patience he had just given her. She watched him closely, counted his breaths- five deep inhales and five deep exhales before he looked at her again. Then he reached for her, pulling her close to his chest, wrapping her in his arms once more.  
  
The gesture released her tears and she clung to him, this time sobbing her grief into his chest.  
  
“Shshsh,” Bellamy whispered to her. “I’ve got you- you’re okay. It’s fine.”  
  
“No it’s not!” she cried, shaking her head against his shoulder but not letting go of him. “I’m so scared, Bell… and Lincoln isn’t here. This is all so wrong.”  
  
Even without looking at him she knew the exact expression he had on his face- a mixture of empathy, sadness, and determination. He laid a hand against her cheek and tipped her face up- and sure enough, there it was.  
  
“I know it’s horrible that Lincoln isn’t here,” he said gently. “But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.” Obviously trying to make her smile he added, “Mom managed not to screw you up too badly, right? And your dad wasn’t around either.”  
  
She was in no mood to smile. “But Bell,” she protested. “Mom had _you.”_  
  
He grew serious and he put his hands on her shoulders. Looking into her eyes, his expression firm, he said, “And so do you.”  
  
Octavia paused, surprised for a moment that she hadn’t thought of that, but still she looked at him uncertainty, as though waiting for the other shoe to drop. “You’re not mad?”  
  
Bellamy looked genuinely surprised. “Mad? No, why would I be mad?”  
  
“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging, dropping her eyes to the forest floor.  
  
He let out a long breath. “Look… yeah, you’re young,” he allowed. “And yeah, I’m probably going to go grey from worry before this kid even gets here.” That elicited the briefest of smiles, so his lips curled up too and he added gently, “But you chose to be with Lincoln, and this is something that can happen when you make that kind of decision. It’s not _bad._ Just unexpected.”  
  
Only because they were alone and she trusted him so much did she whisper, “But I don’t know if I’m happy about it.”  
  
If Bellamy was surprised by that revelation, he didn’t show it. He just pulled her into his arms and said, “We’ll figure it out together, okay?”  
  
Octavia held him tightly and nodded her head, wanting so badly for that to be true, for this to be a thing they could just figure out. Eventually, with his arms around her and his soft murmurs of comfort in her ears, she calmed down enough to let him go.  
  
She saw a hesitant expression cross his face so she frowned at him, raising her eyebrows, silently demanding that he say whatever was on his mind. He sighed, and then softly he said, “There are options…”  
  
She shook her head immediately and said firmly, “No. It’s _Lincoln.”_  
  
“Octavia,” Bellamy said gently, drawing her eyes. “It’s also _you._ And you matter.”  
  
She felt her lip tremble and she bit down on it, not wanting to start crying again. She just shook her head and said, “It’s too late. Even if I wanted that, it’s too late.” She heard the tremble in her voice, but she really didn't know if she was upset about _that,_ or just everything.  
  
“Hey,” he said urgently. “Okay, listen to me. Sometimes, the best things are scary, unexpected, and life altering. That’s what you were for me- and _now_ look at us.”  
  
She allowed a tiny smile to cross her lips, but it faded almost right away as her eyes filled with tears. “Bell?” she asked softly, her voice small. “Can you ruin a baby? If someone’s pregnant and full of hate, can that… I don’t know… poison it?” She was scared to hear the answer, but she just had to know, and she knew he would tell her the truth.  
  
Bellamy let out a heavy breath and took her shoulders in his hands, and then he did something he hadn’t done since she was very small- he leaned down to her eye level, looked at her firmly, and said, “No.”  
  
She pulled in a shaky breath, that word alone a comfort, but he wasn't done. He held her eyes and went on, “You can’t ruin a baby, Octavia. Babies are perfect. I know you’re scared, but when you see that kid you’re going to love it more than you’ve ever loved anything in your entire life.” Then he softened, giving her a gentle smile, and added, “Remember when I told you my life didn’t start until the day you were born?”  
  
She drew in an emotional breath and nodded- that was something she would never forget.  
  
Bellamy nodded too, and then he said, “You’re going to feel exactly the same way about this baby. I _promise.”_  
  
For the first time since she’d found out she was pregnant, her smile was wide and bright.


	75. 75- Bellamy

The first time they stopped to rest, Bellamy sat down on a log and took a long pull from one of the canteens, then offered it to his sister. He watched her drink the water thirstily, and he couldn’t help but drop his eyes to her stomach, trying to see evidence of the huge revelation she’d just given him. But through her layers of clothing, she looked normal. He was relieved- somehow he knew that he would have felt guilty if he’d overlooked something so huge just because he was wrapped up in his own problems.  
  
He really couldn’t believe he was going to be an uncle. He kept thinking of his mother, how he’d watched her grow big and round, and that he’d somehow known- even at six years old- what a huge change was coming. Even though Octavia wasn’t risking her life like Aurora had, this would still be an incredible upheaval in their lives- in _her_ life. He worried about whether she was ready for this, but he knew no one ever could be. Even his own mother, who’d already had one child, still struggled at times raising Octavia.  
  
In that little room of Octavia’s childhood, nothing was ever hidden. Nothing was private. Therefore, he knew the loving smiles his mother had shone down on Octavia, the way she’d kissed each perfect toe, the way she’d brought her ruffle of soft baby hair to her nose and breathed it in, the way she’d watch her sleep- like she was a miracle. But he’d also seen the times she’d wept, terrified and desperate, trying to soothe Octavia when she wouldn’t be soothed, the times it was difficult to calm her or quiet her, the times her innocent cries threatened to give them all away. More than once Octavia had been thrust into his arms, his mother leaving their quarters, and it had been left up to Bellamy to be the one to keep her safe, to keep them _all_ safe.  
  
Once, he had woken late in the night and watched his mother approach the sleeping baby and place a pillow over her face. The action had been so confusing, so terrifying, that for a long moment he had just frozen- unable to intervene, unable to save Octavia. But then, just as quickly as it happened, Aurora had thrown the pillow aside and pulled her daughter up into her arms, cuddling her, whispering apologies, crying.  
  
Bellamy had lain awake that whole night in case she’d tried it again, and then the next. After that, he woke at the slightest sound. After that, he rushed to soothe his baby sister’s cries, to relieve his mother whenever she appeared stressed or overwhelmed. He was as much Octavia's parent as he was her brother; as much her guardian as he was her friend. Boundaries were not a thing he’d understood much of, growing up- at least not in their quarters. The only boundaries that existed were those between their family and the rest of the Ark, and those walls were huge and tall. But inside the cocoon of Octavia’s childhood, they were bonded by loyalty, love, and fear.  
  
He had seen a lot of things in that little room on Factory Station- many that he didn’t like to think about. It wasn’t that it had been an unhappy place… he had so many memories of joy there, of love and warmth. But the bad memories- the fear and shame, the stifling and oppressive needs that filled his every waking moment- those were hard to shake. The essence of who he was, of what he stood for, boiled down so easily to an all-encompassing theme of his existence, forged by two promises that had guided him his entire life, so simple:  
  
_My sister, my responsibility._  
  
_I’ll never let anything bad happen to you, Octavia. I promise._  
  
Bellamy let out a long, heavy breath and pushed those thoughts away as Octavia smiled at him and held the canteen out once more. He knew she didn’t need him like she had as a child, or even like she had when they were first on Earth. She had learned much, grown tougher, and he was glad of it. He hoped her baby inherited even half of her fire, her determination, her strength. But even if it did, he knew it wouldn’t matter- he would still worry about that kid for the rest of his life, just like he would worry about his own if he ever had them. He didn’t know how to turn it off any more than he knew how to turn off his need for food or water.  
  
But all of that was the past, and he knew at least that Octavia would not be like their mother. Her baby would not represent all that could go wrong. If it cried, no one would die for it. And she would love it- yes, he had no uncertainty about that. And so would he… it was barely even a concept to him yet, but he knew with every fiber of his being that he would love this child like his own. Just as he had with Octavia. He didn’t know how he would ever let them out of his sight.  
  
“What are you thinking about?” Octavia asked him gently, and he knew his expression gave away the fact that he was reminiscing deeply.  
  
He gave her a wry smile. “Just thinking about how annoying you were when you were a baby.”  
  
Octavia cracked a smile, gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. “Ha! I don’t think so. I bet I was perfect.”  
  
Had he done that? Made her so self-assured that she had grown into this tenacious woman, so proud and confident? He hoped so. He couldn't quite imagine that it had been their mother.  
  
Flashing her a grin, he shrugged. “Yeah. You were.”  
  
At that, Octavia rolled her eyes. Then she grew quiet and her gaze dropped to her hands. He read her easily, knew he should steel himself for something he didn’t want to hear, but it still caught him off-guard when she asked quietly, “Can we talk about my father now? This baby is making me think about him even more.”  
  
  
_Bellamy was eight._  
  
_Clutched in his arms, curled into his lap, his tiny and helpless little sister with her too-wise eyes, chubby toddler hands clutched around his arm, cheek laid against his heart, listening, tears rolling down her cheeks, silent and still._  
  
_The narrow little bathroom was their only refuge from what was happening in their quarters right now. Huddled in the shower, clutching her close, his mother had urged him there as soon as she got home. “Quick!” she'd cried, placing the baby in Bellamy’s arms as someone started pounding on the door._  
  
_Bursting in, all red-faced with fury, fists clenched, his eyes had locked onto the two of them as Bellamy stood there frozen. It had been so long since he’d seen him, what felt like a lifetime, and eventually the man that used to alternatively dote on, and then rage at, his mother had faded into memory._  
  
_For a long moment, no one had moved. Octavia’s eyes were huge, stricken, terrified, her first encounter with a living, breathing face that did not belong to her mother or brother, that was unknown. The moment he’d reached for Octavia with his big angry hands, Aurora had sprung into action, shoving Bellamy into that little bathroom, urging him, “Stay in there!”_  
  
_Bellamy had slammed the bathroom door, climbed into the shower and slammed that door too, seizing his sister as close as possible._  
  
_“That’s my_ daughter! _I can see plain as day she is- she’s got my damn_ eyes, _Aurora! How could you keep this from me?!” He was not so loud that he would draw suspicion from their neighbours, conscientious of Octavia’s secret existence, but his angry hiss was loud enough to get through the door to the bathroom- every word a menace._  
  
_“Bell,” Octavia whispered. “Scary monster.” She turned her face into his chest and shook her head side to side. “No… go away.”_  
  
_Bellamy slid his hand over her ear, held the other tightly to his chest, whispered, “Shshsh.” Told her, “You’re having a bad dream. It’s okay- I’m here.” Sang softly to drown out the sounds as their mother screamed and dodged with Octavia's father around the room like some kind of frenzied dance. He didn’t need to witness it to know exactly what was happening- he had seen it all before._  
  
  
Bellamy shook his head. No, this wasn’t the right time. He still hadn’t figured out how he was going to talk to her about this, what he’d tell her- would he leave things out, or give her the whole truth? He knew what she deserved and what he wanted to give, and the two were at odds in his heart.  
  
“Can we wait until we get to Mount Weather?” he asked her. He knew it wasn’t fair but, trying to deflect, he added, “I’m just too preoccupied with the fact that we have to go back in there. And Clarke… she’s going to need support.”  
  
She let out a long breath, and he saw the anger flash through her eyes. “He’s _mine,_ you know,” she said. “Not yours.”  
  
Bellamy pulled in a breath, trying not to get annoyed, but he couldn’t stop it. “I knew him, you didn’t. So _I_ get to decide when we talk about it.” For good measure he added, “End of discussion.”  
  
Octavia curled her lip up in anger and her fists clenched. “Fine,” she snapped, pulling to her feet and stalking away. He watched her go, closing his eyes briefly. He could have handled that better, but he could deal with her anger, and he knew she wouldn't go far.  
  
“How’s she doing?” Clarke asked softly, suddenly appearing at his elbow. He patted the log next to him and she sat, watching Octavia kick through the foliage away from him. “Is it the baby?”  
  
“No, it’s me,” Bellamy answered. “It’s fine… well, it’ll _be_ fine.”  
  
“How is she doing with it?”  
  
“Did you really only just find out about the baby today?” he asked her, needing to know if she’d said that for Octavia’s sake- needing to know if she’d been keeping it from him.  
  
Clarke nodded. “Yeah. I guess with everything that’s been going on, it’s not something I noticed. _She_ didn’t even know.” She seemed a bit hurt, like she thought he was angry at her.  
  
Bellamy reached out for her hand then hesitated, glancing around at their friends. Monroe and Miller were sitting close by, and they quickly glanced away from Bellamy when he looked at them. He dropped his hand.  
  
“What’s _that_ about?” Clarke asked him softly. She sounded even more hurt now.  
  
“Nothing,” he assured her- but the truth was, he wasn’t sure. Loving her on the road, kissing her, holding her hand, that had been easy. And when they broke away from the group so she could give him Red, it felt like a little bubble of separateness, their own little world. The fact that the pleasure and relief of the drug had always come from her hand had been a nice bonus, but now it was backfiring on him. Now, even a simple thing like holding her hand elicited thoughts of the drug, of how good it felt coursing through his veins, reminding him of how much he wanted it.  
  
Clarke seemed to be struggling for words. Finally she said, “Do you not… want this anymore?”  
  
Bellamy cringed, and then he did take her hand, squeezing it briefly before letting it go again. He wanted the Red so badly, it took every ounce of strength he had not to think about it at the best of times… if he was reminded of it, he could barely function.  
  
“When I calm down,” he told her gently.  
  
At least some small amount of realisation seemed to dawn on her and she nodded her head, but she still seemed upset. “How are the cravings?”  
  
Bellamy glanced around again, afraid that someone would overhear, but no one was listening and they were keeping their voices low. He let out a breath, shook his head. “Horrible. Even when I think about something else- Octavia, you… I always come back to the drug.”  
  
Tenderly she said, “We broke your body’s immediate dependency, but that doesn’t mean you won’t still crave it. Maybe forever.”  
  
He shifted uncomfortably, really hating that idea- not wanting to have compulsive thoughts about that horrible substance, not wanting to go even one step down that path again. “It feels like an obsession,” he whispered, ashamed.  
  
This time Clarke took both his hands in hers and squeezed. “I’m here for you,” she told him. “And so is Octavia. And the baby coming- that’s something to look forward to, isn’t it?” She hesitated, as though she hadn’t quite figured out whether he’d be happy about that or not.  
  
He nodded. “Yeah.” His smile was soft, warm. “That baby is definitely something to look forward to.”  
  
She squeezed his hands again. “Well, good. So focus on that. I know it’s hard… but we’re here for you. Don’t pull away from us, and we can help you.”  
  
Bellamy met her eyes and he saw the warmth there, the calm, and how much she cared. They’d been through so much- maybe this could be just one more thing. He focused on the softness of her skin, the firm pressure of her hands against him, and for a blissful few moments he was thinking only of her, not of the drug those hands had delivered to him over and over. Not about the way she’d slid the injector so gently, almost lovingly, into his neck, the way she’d been so careful with the dose, how her fingers had rested gently over his pulse, keeping him alive with her touch, regulating him as she gave him what he wanted… needed.  
  
Bellamy let go abruptly, clenching his jaw, his train of thought having gone somewhere without his permission. He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“No, it’s okay,” she assured him. He looked at her again and saw that some part of her comprehended what was happening. He was relieved by that, but disappointed at the same time- relieved that she could understand why it was difficult for him to allow even the briefest, simplest amount of intimacy when he was still so raw, but also disappointed that she might see him differently now.

He tried to remind himself that she had seen him at his worst, again and again, and she had never turned her back on him. He had no reason not to trust her now.  
  
Even beyond the added complication of the drug, this whole idea of a relationship still felt so strange- good, but strange. Those walls his mother had built around their family, the distrust she promoted of anyone who fell outside them… it was hard to break. In some ways, Clarke had long since overcome that boundary, had earned his trust- not to mention his respect and loyalty- long ago, but now that their relationship had shifted towards romance, he found himself floundering. He had never had more than impassioned, stolen moments with the few girls on the Ark he’d been involved with at all, and that involvement had been superficial at best. It wasn’t that he wouldn't have wanted a girlfriend or even love, but his life just didn’t allow for it. Even once he was on the ground, the girls who’d caught his eye were temporary distractions from his guilt at killing Jaha and his frustration that nothing was going his way.  
  
Clarke was none of that. Clarke was someone he wouldn’t dare use, someone he respected more than anyone else on Earth, and someone he wanted to have something meaningful with. He was scared to screw it up- but, because of that fear, he was pretty sure he was screwing it up.  
  
Drawing in a breath, he stood up and nodded his head towards the trees. “I can’t talk like this,” he told her, not just meaning the subject matter, but their friends all around them, the suddenly close quarters.  
  
Bellamy made sure to choose the direction opposite to where Octavia had stormed off, and Clarke followed him away from the rest of their group, past the treeline and into the forest. Somehow, with the trees close around them, he could breathe a lot easier than in the openness of the clearing.  
  
He looked at her and watched her trying to figure him out, the way she slightly parted her lips, the almost imperceptible tilt to her head, and the tiny lines that furrowed her brow just a little. He couldn’t help but smile at her, or maybe it was at himself, for the shift that had occurred in how he looked at her.  
  
Now that they were alone, he didn’t really know what to say, didn't really want to talk at all. He raised a hand and stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, watching as that simple touch smoothed her entire face, erasing the concern from her brow. She smiled up at him and gingerly raised a hand into his hair, caressing the base of his neck with her thumb. Bellamy smiled back at her and then he leaned in, closing his eyes, kissing her gently at first, uncertainly, but her lips were a much better distraction than her hands, so he soon relaxed, not thinking of the Red at all, just focusing on her lips.  
  
Clarke kissed him back, one of her hands still in his hair, another curling around him as he shifted her closer, wrapping his arms around her as he deepened the kiss, his tongue gently coaxing her lips apart. He felt her melt into his arms, and he shifted her backwards against a nearby tree, cradling the back of her head in one hand so the bark wouldn’t hurt her, his fingers splayed into her golden hair.  
  
Finally they had to stop, knowing that the group would want to get moving again soon. Bellamy pulled back from her lips and laid his forehead against hers, smiling gently at her as he stroked her hair. Clarke returned the smile, her hands clasped around his shoulders. Neither of them were in a hurry to let go of each other, but eventually they had to. Clarke’s expression was tender and content, and Bellamy knew he must have looked very similar.  
  
When they rejoined their friends, Harper and Monty exchanged the tiniest of smiles, but no one else seemed to notice them returning or think anything of it. Octavia was also back, and she glanced up, giving Bellamy a smile that said the two of them were good. Bellamy smiled back to her, knowing it was true- their fights never lasted.  
  
The guards soon gave the order to move out and Bellamy felt his humour fade instantly, immediately replaced with dread. The next time they stopped, they would be at Mount Weather. One look to Clarke told him she had just as much trepidation about it- probably more. Whereas he could comfort himself with the fact that he’d pulled that lever for Octavia, Clarke had done it for her people. It was no less noble, but while his sister’s presence in his life was a constant reminder that he’d done the right thing, Clarke hadn’t been able to live with the reminders of her own role- the faces of her friends and family.  
  
No longer caring who saw or what anyone read into it, just seeing that tense expression settling down over Clarke's face again as they started walking, he reached out and took her hand. When she looked at him, he nodded to her and reminded her, “Together. We do this together.”  
  
Clarke seemed reassured, relieved. Squeezing his hand, she nodded her head and agreed, “Together.”


	76. 76- Octavia

She wasn’t exactly happy to be going back to Mount Weather, but she knew it was just something that had to be done, and she didn’t have the same reservations as Clarke and Bellamy. Her time inside the functioning mountain had been brief and victorious, and her time afterward, when it was nothing but Abby’s personal supply depot, was even briefer. She’d had no reason to set foot there, and had watched the way the mountain haunted her brother’s dreams, asleep and awake. She’d never had a chance to see the way it had haunted Clarke, but her absence had been proof enough.  
  
When they were less than an hour the mountain, Octavia could see the dread growing heavy on Clarke’s shoulders. “Hey,” she said gently, walking up close to Clarke and falling into step beside her. She repeated something Indra had taught her, “Fear harms only the fearful.”  
  
Clarke glanced sideways at her and gave her a tight smile, shaking her head. “If only it was easy to turn off.”  
  
Octavia understood that; she knew from her own moments of doubt and terror, her claustrophobia, that once those emotions had their claws in you, it was hard to shake them off. Slowing Clarke down with a gentle hand on her arm, together they waited for the others to go ahead.  
  
“My mother used to tell me that fear was a demon,” Octavia said softly, once they were alone. “She said that if I repeated the words ‘I’m not afraid,’ out loud and in my mind, then I would slay the demon. It was like my own personal mantra.”  
  
Clarke smiled a little. “That’s what Bellamy told Charlotte.” A frown rose up to her lips and she let out a long breath, shaking her head. “I think she took it a little more seriously than a mantra though.”  
  
“That’s the thing,” Octavia said gently. “The words don’t mean anything. It’s what you _do_ with them that matters- the power _you_ give them.”  
  
Brow furrowed, Clarke met Octavia’s eyes and she shook her head. “What are you trying to say?”  
  
Octavia kept her eyes steady as she looked at Clarke. “I’m trying to tell you that you’ve got to change your mantra, Clarke. I’ve been watching you, training you, and I see what you’re thinking. But you’re wrong. You’re not weak. You’re not bad. You’re not guilty of half the crimes you think you are.”  
  
Clarke’s eyes had filled with tears and now she blinked them away, shaking her head. “The things I’ve done-”  
  
“You did to survive,” Octavia interrupted.  
  
“I used to think that,” Clarke said softly. “I used to think that was enough, that if it was war… if I was fighting for my life… then that made things okay. But what if that’s wrong? Does war mean we don’t have to act like human beings? Does it mean that the bad things we do should just be forgiven?”  
  
“It’s not _about_ that, Clarke,” Octavia said gently. “It’s not about innocent or guilty, good or bad, peace or war, forgiveness or responsibility. It’s about living with the things you’ve done, day in and day out, and grieving for the people you’ve killed.”  
  
A few tears slipped down Clarke's cheeks as she shook her head. “That’s so sad.”  
  
Octavia nodded. “It’s really sad,” she agreed, feeling a bit emotional herself. Again she drew her words from a Grounder lesson, this one from Lincoln, “But that’s what the living owe to the dead.” She glanced at Clarke and said, “It’s why they mark their bodies. Every scar is a reminder of each life that was taken.” She reached out and put her hand on Clarke’s forearm, wanting her to really hear her. “But not because the act of killing was wrong. And not because you shouldn’t have done it. But because you honour those people who gave their lives so you could go on.”  
  
“But it shouldn't have to _come_ to that,” Clarke whispered, and her eyes flickered in the direction of Mount Weather.  
  
Octavia squeezed her arm. “You and Bellamy did that to save us.”  
  
“Forty-seven people,” Clarke whispered, shaking her head. “We killed three _hundred_ to save forty-seven people.”  
  
“Three hundred people who wanted to drill us for bone marrow.”  
  
“No,” Clarke said firmly, shaking her head, squeezing her eyes shut, and Octavia watched the tears trickle down her cheeks. “A few dozen who wanted that. Hundreds who didn’t. And children… people who were helping us.”  
  
Octavia shook her head. She and Bellamy had gone over this a hundred times. Now she told Clarke what she had always told him, “They were all going to benefit from it. They all needed us to survive. They would have kept trying to kill us, over and over, until they took everything.”  
  
Clarke shook her head. “But it didn’t have to _be_ that way,” she said urgently, as if now, even after all this time, she could fix it. “We could have _donated_ bone marrow. _All_ of us could have survived.”  
  
“But that wasn’t our choice,” Octavia said gently. “It was theirs.”  
  
“No, it was ours,” Clarke said, shaking her head again, vehement. “Mine and Bellamy’s.”  
  
“And if you'd chosen differently, then all of us would have died,” Octavia told her frankly. "Clarke," she added gently. "Forgive yourself."  
  
Clarke looked at her, her blue eyes shining with tears. “Is it that easy for you? Really?”  
  
“Yeah,” Octavia answered, nodding her head. “It is.”  
  
Her smile was brief, but genuine. “I wish I could do that.”  
  
“No you don’t,” Octavia said, shaking her head. “I could never do the things that you do.”  
  
Again Clarke smiled, a little bigger this time. “I could never do the things that _you_ do.”  
  
“Yes you can,” Octavia said with a wry smile. “I’m teaching you, remember?” This elicited a laugh, and Octavia realised that was the reaction she’d been looking for. She had wanted to make Clarke smile, laugh- to make her happy. She felt softer towards Clarke now as if, without her even realising, the section of her heart that held her forgiveness had grown larger than the section that held her anger.  
  
She had always assumed that the latter would have to die before the former could take root, and she could never quite picture that happening. But now she could see that they could, indeed, coexist. That she could be angry for the things Clarke had done that had hurt, while also loving her for the things she’d done that had helped, that had healed.  
  
For Bellamy’s sake, too, she had softened towards Clarke- she could see how much even something as simple as her presence truly meant to him. The fact that her brother was falling in love with Clarke made her jealous, yes, because she knew what love did to change a person’s focus, and she was scared to lose him.  
  
But the romance blossoming between the two also made her feel tender towards Clarke, fond even, grateful that Clarke was giving her brother something he needed in all this darkness- something to hold onto. A future. A life outside the little bubble that had consumed him since the day she was born. That thought hurt, like poking at a sensitive bruise, but she adored her brother enough to stand aside and let him love Clarke, if that’s what would make him happy- and happy was all she’d ever wanted him to be.  
  
“You can do this, Clarke,” she said gently. “You and Bellamy are battling the same demons. If you fight them together, you’ll get through it together.”  
  
Clarke nodded her head, and then pulled in a deep breath, turning her eyes toward the mountain. Octavia watched her lift her chin, watched her straighten her spine, and she felt a swell of admiration. She was proud of her.  
  
“Okay,” Clarke said softly, nodding again. “Let’s go.”  
  
They continued through the forest, down the same trails they’d used when they’d been an army, marching against the mountain- when everything had still seemed so hopeful. She could feel the memory of Indra beside her, the ghost of their battle cry echoing through the trees. Octavia stole a glance at Clarke, wondering if she felt the same, knowing she had many more ghosts to meet here before this would be done.  
  
Breaking through the trees, they saw the huge steel door looming ahead, with the thick archway with ‘Mount Weather Complex’ etched into it. The door itself was ajar, always, since it was too difficult to open. There were further doors inside that would deter intruders, but no one had ever tried- the mountain may have fallen, but it was still avoided by all who lived in these woods.  
  
It looked like everyone had already gone inside- everyone except Bellamy, who was leaning against a tree a good distance from the doorway, waiting.  
  
Octavia saw the dread spreading over Clarke's face, down her neck, and into her back and shoulders as they approached- but then, just as quickly, it started to fade away as she saw Bellamy sitting there. He stood up, just gazing at her.  
  
Bellamy’s eyes flickered to Octavia and he said, “They’re all inside.”  
  
She nodded. “I’ll go join them. You two come in when you’re ready.”  
  
Clarke was still looking at Bellamy, but she tore her eyes away from his face to give Octavia a grateful smile. “We’ll be there soon.”  
  
Octavia reached out and squeezed Clarke’s forearm. Gently she said, “Take your time. It’s not going anywhere.”  
  
She left Clarke's side and headed for the door, intentionally colliding her shoulder against Bellamy's as she passed him, bringing a smile to his lips. She stepped through the blast door and then turned her head, looking back towards the two of them. She felt a pang as the knowledge hit her that it would be like this, from now on. She would be looking on them- on Bellamy- from a distance, and his focus would move further away from her. She knew that was part of growing up. It filled her with a strange emotion, a mixture of fear and hope, love and dismay. But she knew she could not control it, that she shouldn't. It might have been sad, but it was still good.  
  
She watched as Clarke and Bellamy just gazed at each other and then, as if they shared some kind of psychic communication, they walked in unison across the clearing and wrapped their arms around one another.  
  
With a small smile on her face, she left them alone.


	77. 77- Clarke

With Bellamy, Clarke walked slowly to the door of Mount Weather. She paused when she reached it, looking up at it- huge and looming- before gingerly touching a hand to the hole that Monroe had drilled in the door. She could still remember that flickering arrow that Lincoln had launched into the hole, blowing the door.  
  
“It was working,” she said, brow furrowed, shaking her head. “The plan was working. The door was _open.”_  
  
“Hey,” Bellamy said gently, sliding a hand down her arm and curling his fingers around hers. She looked at him, saw the compassion in his eyes. Gently he told her, “It’s done now.”  
  
“I wish I’d had a chance to talk to Lexa,” Clarke said, pulling her hand away from the door, but not away from him. “I wish I could have asked her why she did it.” Her thoughts flickered to Eema, but _that_ was something she didn’t want to revisit- not now, and maybe not ever.  
  
He let out a heavy breath. “She did it for the same reason any of us ever did anything- for her people. Even the Mountain Men did what they did for their people.”  
  
“But how far is too far?” she asked him softly, thinking of the conversation she’d just had with Octavia on the path to this door.  
  
Again Bellamy sighed. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “Until someone wins, I guess.”  
  
Clarke grimaced, shaking her head. “No one ever _wins.”_  
  
Gently he pulled her into his arms and held her, stroking a hand over her hair. “You’re right. But we don’t have to be afraid of this place anymore. The only thing you’re going to find in there are medical supplies and your mother.”  
  
The idea of seeing her mother again wasn’t exactly a happy one; more than anything else, she felt apprehensive about that particular reunion. In fact, she was surprised Abby hadn’t already come running out to find her, but someone had obviously convinced her that her daughter needed to do this in her own time. Clarke was grateful to whoever that person was.  
  
She also knew Bellamy was wrong- she would find memories in there, terrible memories… everything she’d run away from. And she was so scared to face them. Somehow she’d thought that time would make it easier, but it had only delayed the inevitable and made it all feel so much more loaded.  
  
Bellamy gave her as long as she needed, until she pulled back from his arms. “Let’s just do this,” she said.  
  
Inside, the tunnel leading away from the main door was exactly like she remembered it: huge, lonely, dusty, dimly lit. The inner door had been left open for them by Octavia- no more need to shield the place from outside radiation.  
  
Quietly they moved down the tunnel and into the elevator. Clarke raised her hand and reached for the buttons, then hesitated.  
  
Bellamy reached out and pressed the number for level 3. “You want to see your mom first, right?”  
  
She felt guilty that she didn’t, but she nodded her head. The elevator hummed to life and started moving. Clarke watched the flashing lights of the passing floors and just sat with her rising dread. She could feel Bellamy’s eyes on her- waiting, worrying.  
  
The elevator stopped on the third floor and the doors opened. She didn’t move.  
  
“Clarke,” he said gently, reaching his arm out to stop the doors from closing. “You can do this. I’m right here.”  
  
She glanced at him, saw the sincerity in his brown eyes, and then she reached out and pressed the button for level five.  
  
Bellamy swallowed and stared at the glowing number, and then slowly he lowered his arm to allow the doors to shut, closing his eyes briefly, clearly steeling himself. “Okay,” he said softly. “You’re right, we should go there first.”  
  
It was, in fact, the last thing she wanted. But she still couldn’t stop her feet from stepping out of the elevator and moving down that corridor, now eerily quiet and deserted.  
  
She rounded the bend where she had rushed Maya right after she’d first woken up in the mountain, stopping short in the doorway of the mess hall, just like she had on that first day.  
  
The big room looked the same but so different- still all concrete and arches, lit by the glowing yellow circles in the curved wall. Still filled with tables, though they were no longer laid with pretty runners or set with plates, and all the chairs were neatly tucked into the tables. The flags and tapestries had been removed, the paintings taken from the walls, so the room was now barren and sad.  
  
Clarke looked at the chairs and remembered all the slumped bodies, people who died while eating slices of cake or pie, trying to pass the time before freedom. She remembered the bodies on the floor too, bloody sores leaking onto the carpet, radiation burns blooming on their cheeks, their hands- every exposed bit of skin a cratered, oozing mess.  
  
She remembered the children’s bodies too, children who were innocent and had no choice but to pay for the crimes of their parents. She knew they had suffered- they had felt their skin start to burn, they had cried out in pain and fear, collapsed and screamed and trembled and died where they lay, right where they were eating or playing or dreaming of the outside.  
  
She gritted her teeth and shook her head. “If only there had been some way to separate them out,” she said softly. “Or if we’d had more time.” She looked at him, saw his expression, equally tormented, and felt responsible for that. “I’m sorry, I just-”  
  
“No,” he interrupted her gently, shaking his head. “No, it’s okay, Clarke… I wish all that could be true too.”  
  
“But you don’t regret it, right?” she asked him, keeping his eyes- finding it easier to look at his face than the room before them, clean and sterile now but still filled with all the ghosts of the past. “You think it was the right thing, because of Octavia?”  
  
Bellamy let out a long breath, shaking his head. “We saved our people, Clarke,” he said. “Not just Octavia, but all of them. It had to be done. They never would have stopped.”  
  
“But you didn’t want to,” she insisted- it was like picking at a scab, painful, but she couldn’t stop. “You didn’t want to irradiate- you said no, that we couldn’t kill those children, and the people who helped us… you tried to stop it.”  
  
“Yeah, at first,” he said. “But then…”  
  
“But then Octavia,” she finished for him.  
  
Bellamy sighed, shaking his head. “Octavia just made the decision easier.” He glanced into the mess hall, and then looked back at Clarke. Softly he added, “But only a little.”  
  
It was a conversation they should have had six months ago.  
  
“What was it like?” she asked him. “Going back to Camp Jaha… having to live with all of this, day in and day out?”  
  
“We both lived with it, Clarke,” Bellamy said softly. “You just decided to do it alone.”  
  
She felt tears building in her eyes as she looked at him. “I shouldn’t have left you.”  
  
“Hey,” he said gently. “Look, you came back- that’s what matters. I told you I would give you forgiveness and I meant it- you’re forgiven for this-” His hand swept across the mess hall. “-and you’re forgiven for leaving. Holding onto this… any of this… it’s pointless. It’ll only torture us more, and we’ve been through enough, don’t you think?”  
  
“But how do you do it?” she whispered. “How do you live through every day, knowing that everyone you see around you is only alive because you killed all these people? Killed _Children?”_  
  
Bellamy cringed and let out a breath. “I don’t know, Clarke,” he said softly. “I guess, for me, seeing their faces reminded me that we did the right thing. That all of this was worth it… that we had no choice.”  
  
Clarke stared back into the mess hall and whispered, “We always have a choice.”  
  
Bellamy’s hesitation seemed to indicate he disagreed, but when he spoke all he said was, “The right choice, then. We made the right choice for our people.”  
  
“And our people matter more,” she said, cringing.  
  
“To us? Yeah.”  
  
Clarke drew in a shaky breath. “Octavia says I have to stop worrying about whether what we did was right or wrong… she said I just have to live with it. To grieve them, and be sorry, but live with the fact that they’re dead because of us.”  
  
When he didn’t say anything she looked at his face, and she saw a tear working its way down his cheek. She remembered the first time she'd seen him cry, such a long time ago- that day in the woods when he’d told her about his mother, before all of this… when they were still so naïve and innocent, comparatively speaking. She could barely remember what that felt like now.  
  
Bellamy took her hands in his and he pulled her close to him, guiding her hands to wrap around his shoulders as he curled his own palms into her lower back. He tucked her head under his chin and said, “You can do all that,” he said softly. “And you can also let me take some of that off your shoulders. Neither of us have to do this alone- not anymore. But I can’t just take it, Clarke… you have to give it to me.”  
  
“I don’t know how to do that,” she admitted.  
  
“Yes you do,” he said gently. “Take it from someone who knows… guilt and self-hate is exhausting. You have to share it around a little. You know who I learned that from?” He leaned back, curling his fingers under her chin and tilting her face up to look at him. Softly he said, “You.”  
  
Her brow furrowed, a couple of tears escaping down her face. “Me?”  
  
“Yeah,” he said, stroking her tears away with his thumb. “I spent my whole life carrying the world on my shoulders… for my mother, for my sister… and then I got down here and I felt so worthless and miserable… so guilty for all the things I’d done, and I just kept making it worse. But then _you_ taught me how to live with all that. _You_ taught me I could be useful, I could help people, I could make up for the mistakes I made… that I could be forgiven. I’d never been part of a team before, but that’s what we became- and every decision we made, we shared.” He pointed into the mess hall. “This was no different, Clarke. We did this _together._ We can share the burden together too, and we can move on from it together.”  
  
A tiny smile had slid onto Clarke's lips as he spoke, and she knew that this was how it should have always been. She'd walked away because she thought that it would make things easier, that she could be alone and process and grieve and move past her guilt and then come back home. It had been a crazy idea, and one that masked her true reasons- she simply couldn’t face it. Not what she’d done, not how it felt, and certainly not what it would be like going forward, seen as the victorious leader of her people- at least to the remainder of the hundred- and not as the horrible murderer she felt she was. By making the choice to irradiate, she had saved lives and taken them, and in the end she couldn’t face this simple truth: that some lives were more important than others. It just depended on perspective.  
  
Even after all she'd been through on the ground so far, at her core she was still that privileged child from Alpha Station, naïve and righteous- so the reality of what had happened in Mount Weather, the choices they'd had to make and their consequences, and this ugly reality: that they had killed innocents to save people they loved... that had been the hardest thing to bear.  
  
Clarke cast one last, long look over that room that had been witness to so much death, so much useless loss. Together, she and Bellamy had wiped out an entire population of people- it had been genocide, no more and no less. Justifiable genocide? Yes, from their perspective. But they were just one people, and Clarke had seen enough of the world in the last six months to know that outlook was everything. Nobody ever won, but plenty of people could lose.  
  
Six months ago, they had stood outside the gates of Camp Jaha, and Bellamy had asked her- pleaded with her- to come inside. Instead, she'd walked away. But today she was staying- staying with him, staying with her friends, her mother, her people. Staying despite the heartache it caused, because inside that heartache, there was hope too. She realised now that one would always have to go with the other. Not everything that happened was wholly good or wholly bad; not every question got resolved. Life just didn't work that way, and never had- not on the Ark, not on the ground.  
  
“Are you okay?” Bellamy asked softly, breaking through her thoughts.  
  
“No,” she whispered, tearing her gaze away from the mess hall and looking back at him. His eyes were so warm, so compassionate and gentle, and she knew she just had to take what he was offering her: forgiveness, and a chance to start over- to move on, to share her burdens again. She let out a long breath and squeezed her eyes shut, then slowly opened them again. Softly she told him, “I will be.”  
  
When he pulled her close to him and kissed her, his lips tasted like hope.  
  
  
THE END  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys- well, we've reached the end. Like any season of the 100 would do, I've left a few questions unanswered- my own season finale, as it were. Writing this has been such a fun and rewarding experience, and I've loved receiving so many comments from you guys- they have really kept me going, kept me passionate and excited to continue. I'm not ruling out a sequel. But this was always a story about bringing Clarke home, and she's home now.
> 
> Stay tuned for the sequel- I will post a "new chapter" at the end of this story to let you know when I've started posting it. :)


End file.
